Chuck Versus the Chuckless Summer: Beth
by Renegade.Girl13
Summary: Second season AU.  A series of drabbles  for lack of a better term  told in the eyes of Beth Daniels-CIA agent, Orange Orange worker, and roommate of one John Casey.  Series co-written with lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts.
1. Welcome to Burbank: Beth's Introduction

A/N and disclaimer: So this is the start of a series of drabbles starting in the second season of Chuck. It's basically Chuck-verse told through the eyes of my OC, Beth. My friend AC and I started these at the end of summer this year because we were a little anxious for Chuck to start up again. We didn't realize it'd go on so long, or have such a life of its own. Anyway, I don' t own Chuck the show, or its characters-so don't sue me; however, I do own Beth, and AJ (who isn't mentioned in this chapter, but will be in the next one I think) is purely lifeislikeaboxofbertiebeans (aka, AC's). So please don't steal.

Anyway, onwards to the chapter! Please review; reviews are like chocolate; I can never get enough.

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"You want me to what?" I stared at Beckman through the computer, stunned. "But…I'm on vacation." Way to go Beth—state the obvious and talk back to your supervisor.

"Vacation or not, your country needs you. Operation Bartowski has fallen under complication since the new intersect was destroyed. Making sure Bartowski survives has become increasingly difficult; your job is to act as an extra set of eyes during missions and to ensure he doesn't take any unnecessary risks.

I sighed in frustration and annoyance. It was way too early for this. "But I'm sure the other two agents on the operation are more than capable of protecting Bartowski. Plus, I'm sure that he's familiar with the agents; my being there would cause"

"—this is not a choice for you, Daniels. This is an assignment," Her voice softened. "We all have faced suffering; you cannot throw the rest of your career away because of one mishap," She paused, and when she spoke again, her voice retained its cool edge. "You are expected in Burbank Monday morning."

I simply nodded. Conversation over, I headed back to my little kitchen, certain that the general's call caused my breakfast to burn. Grits ruined, I put the pot to soak and grabbed a chocolate muffin. Looking around the room, loneliness settled over me. I had grown accustomed this rented house, the town and its occupants. The town was small enough that people knew each other by their first name; peopled honked and waved whether they knew you or not. I could have gotten used to living in obscurity here. Certain going to Burbank was the stupidest idea Beckman could come up with, I packed everything I had and threw it in my truck and trailer. I left for Burbank CA in the middle of the night, knowing I'd lose my resolve if I faced the friendly townspeople of Sugarland, TX.

Two days later found me standing inside what Sarah Walker had called Castle, waiting for her partner and Mr. Bartowski to show up. I was rather impressed with the layout and secretive nature of the CIA base hidden underneath an electronics store and frozen yogurt shop. Curiosity piqued, I couldn't help but nose around with the technology. I hadn't seen such advanced material since…well, probably since training. I let out a gasp as I caught sight of something from across the room.

"Is that really a jet pack?"

Sarah glanced over to see what I was looking at. "To an extent. It's still in development, but has been passed for use."

"Sweet merciful Jesus that's awesome! How is it powered? Carbon-based fuel or battery pack? I guess it could be typical gasoline too, but they'd probably branch away from those models as it creates more of a hazard to the user."

"I'm not really sure. They didn't release the details when it was assigned." Her words weren't exactly mean, but they were rather frank in nature. I got the feeling she wasn't exactly pleased with my being here. Well that was alright, I wasn't exactly pleased with my being here either. Like I wanted to be picked up and relocated during vacation? I tried to make some small talk with her.

"Well that's depressing. So, um, Sarah…or would you prefer Agent Walker? I can do either…I don't mean any disrespect by dropping the 'agent' bit. I just figured that it'd be easier to drop formalities if we're going to be working together. Anyways, that wasn't what I started talking for...that rambling made me sound like an idiot, didn't it? Oh well, in any case, I was going to ask when the rest of your, our team…the team was going to get here."

"I think we should stick with"

"What is it Walker? This had better be good."

She never finished telling me which name she'd prefer, as we were interrupted when two men descended into Castle. I assumed these two were the rest of the group. The first man walked with a tense nature; he seemed more poised for battle, ready to strike down any enemy that might appear, while the second seemed more relaxed and at ease with life, albeit with perhaps a hint of naivety. I guess the latter to be Mr. Bartowski himself, while the former then had to be Sarah's partner.

Catching me standing in the corner, he started making his way down the steps more quickly. I wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not. I gave a bright smile in his direction, only to have the look returned the same intense stare. Okay…so he's tenser than I thought.

"Who's the girl, Walker? And why's she here?"

His question wasn't answered by Walker; rather, the screen in the middle of the wall turned on, and it was Beckman who spoke."

"That is Agent Daniels, she's going to join your team to take over the technical side of your missions, as well as act as an extra set of eyes, since it has become top priority to keep the Intersect, and thereby Mr. Bartowski ,safe from danger."

Sarah spoke up. "General, do you really think it's a good idea to add another member of the team, if our top priority is secrecy. Couldn't she compromise our position?"

"Agent Daniels will not jeopardize security—her cover is your coworker in Orange Orange. Besides, this decision is non-negotiable. It had been discussed already and decided to be the best course of action by all involved."

She left no more room for argument, for as soon as she finished her sentence, she disconnected. Man, I had to learn how to end a conversation like that. I glanced around the room at my new team, feeling a bit shy. I had known my last partner for five years; we had gone through training together up until…I stopped my mind from traveling _there_ again, and quickly focused back. All three were staring at me, so I tried to think of something to say.

"So…hi guys. This'll be interesting. I understand y'all have been working together for awhile now, and having a new person involved will be a bit odd to say the least. As Beckman stated, I'm here to help. But, you don't have to call me Agent Daniels, it's just Beth."

There was a pause of silence, then Mr. Bartowski spoke up. "Hi Beth, I'm Chuck! And this is Casey and Sarah. So this'll be fun, having someone else involved in the spy stuff, going undercover on missions…."

"No!" I accidently spoke with more vehemence than intended, causing all three to look at me. "Sorry, what I mean is that I'm not a field agent. Well I was, but I'm not anymore. I'm here strictly as an Intel specialist; I help with the ins and outs of the operation, as well as keeping in touch during missions to make sure everything's going smoothly."

"Why aren't you a field agent anymore?"

I fought the urge to hit my head against whatever was nearest…the metal wall was looking inviting enough for that. Why did I add that tidbit in there? Stupid, blabbermouth self. I gave a half-shrug and turned to answer Chuck. "Eh, you know, just one of those things. I'm more suited for inside work. All the techie bits make my heart smile." That was mostly true. I did like most techie things. I was thankful I didn't have to flounder around for an answer, as Sarah (mercifully) changed the subject.

"You'll be working at Orange Orange then?"

"Yep. Though I'm not sure I'm altogether excited. I understand it's all about oranges but…their uniform matches my hair."

She smiled at me. Granted, it wasn't a 'hey let's be besties' type of smile, but it was the warmest regards she had sent my way. I had a feeling that, maybe in a week or two, we'd be getting along. Maybe working here wouldn't be so bad after all. I looked up when I heard my name. Oh shit, they were speaking, and I wasn't listening.

"Umm….sorry…I spaced for a minute. What are we talking about?"

"I asked if you had a place to stay. You did just move here, correct?"

"Oh! No. I mean yes. I mean no, I don't have a place to stay, and yes, I did just move here. Everything I own is packed in the Duke or on the trailer."

Two reactions happened at once: Chuck and Sarah both asked something akin to 'what is the Duke?' but the reaction I heard clearly was from Casey. "You own that piece of junk?"

I ignored Sarah and Chuck, and went to stand in front of Casey, trying to be imposing (which is pretty difficult when you're about a foot shorter than the person you're supposed to be intimidating). "Duke is NOT a piece of junk! I don't wanna ever hear you talk about my baby that way again. Sure, he may have a few scrapes and scratches, and he's covered in dust because I traveled through a freakin' desert to be here," I paused in my tirade and chanced a glance to see if he was intimidated yet. Apparently not…he looked faintly amused. Well I'd show him. I poked a finger into his chest and he growled at me. "Now, now, growling at me does nothing, ya big bear. We're not gonna have any trouble as long as you cease insulting poor ole' Duke. He's done nothin' to you. That truck has been my faithful steed for quite a number of years, and hasn't failed me yet. He deserves respect."

My argument had run out of steam, as I had inwardly lost it at the fact I had been growled at by a grown man. But I mustn't laugh. That'd make a bad impression. I settled for a smile, knowing my eyes were already showing my laughter. Taking a step back, I explained.

"The Duke is my truck. I've had him for about seven or eight years now. I could get a newer model but…truth is...me an' Duke have been through a lot together. I'm kinda fond of him. I don't have too much to haul, but things like my bed and dresser wouldn't fit in a truck alone, so I brought along my trailer. I still don't have a place to stay but…I guess I'll find one eventually."

"Why don't you live with Casey? He has an extra room. Plus, it's a little hard to believe that Casey could afford where he lives on only a green shirt salary."

I looked at Chuck in disbelief. The man had growled at me, whatever made Chuck think that he'd willingly share his apartment with me?

Sarah chimed in. "Chuck's right, Casey. It would make your cover more believable. Not to mention, it would explain how Beth knows both of us."

I personally thought they both were nuts, but…I didn't have much of a say in things. I needed a place to stay. And quick. I couldn't leave all my goods out in the open forever. I looked hopefully at Casey, biting my tongue so I didn't speak and ruin any chance I could have at getting a home. Or a piece of one at least.

"C'mon Casey, she needs a place to stay. And she's part of the team!"

"You know it'd be easier for all of us."

Casey growled, or maybe he grunted. Somebody should really number these, so I know what he's trying to say. After a moment, he finally nodded. "Fine. Not like I have a choice anyway, but you'd better not own anything pink."

Trying not to smile like a maniac, I laughed. "You've no worries about anything pink from me…but how are you with western memorabilia?"

He shot a glance heavenward, and I had a feeling that he was praying to the Almighty what this was a dream. I laughed. I had a home! Well, a piece of one anyway. Sure, my roommate spoke in code—and he wasn't exactly the most personable person on the planet, but I could deal with that. He wasn't really that bad…just a little rough around the edges.


	2. Roommates

So here it is, the next piece of the story! First, to all my lovely reviewers: Thank you! It really pushes me to keep writing, and also makes me smile. As usual, I don't own Chuck; AC (lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts) owns AJ, and I own Beth. AJ's story is posted under AC's account, and you should totally check it out!

I hope you like this chapter-it was really fun to write...now, onto the story!

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Moving all my stuff into the apartment wasn't as difficult as I thought it'd be. Granted, there was a lot of things to move in, and putting my room together was a task. But not because it's hard to put a room together. More so because my room was previously used to hold all of Casey's 'babies': his pistols, rifles, and other weapons he'd collected over the years and therefore had to be moved out before I could put anything in or paint. As if the man really needed practically two of everything—I mean, how many hands did he have to shoot with?

Well, no matter now. I scanned the room once more, looking for anything that needed last-minute straightening before I headed to the kitchen to put away some baking pans and groceries I had bought earlier. Well, non-perishable groceries; all dry goods, so I didn't have to worry about putting them up as soon as I bought them. A brilliant idea, if I say so myself. Room set, I started hauling kitchen goods. Thirty minutes later, I looked around the kitchen, satisfied that everything was put up, but still not happy.

It was bland. Plain walls, characterless chairs, a blank fridge, and no personal items whatsoever. This could not be. I started raiding my odds-n-ends box, looking for…aha! Found it. I hung up a mini-plate rack first; the three plates depicting silhouettes of western vistas. And once that was up…I went a little crazy. I added my magnets to the fridge, and hung a shelf with pegs by the entry to the kitchen so I could hang my aprons and place my plants (an African violet and a spiny cactus with a red flower). I replaced his plastic Tupperware for my sunflower canisters to hold the flour, sugar, coffee, and tea bags, and set out my three piece John Wayne 'American Hero' statues. Needless to say, by the time I was finished, the house had officially been Bethified.

That done, I looked at the clock. I had no idea when Casey was getting back to the apartment, so I started to bake. I couldn't tell you why, it was just something I did. When in doubt, bake. Bored? No problem; bake! I had just finished the lattice crust for the peach pie when the door opened, and I heard it. And by 'it' I mean a huge thump. Whatever Casey was carrying was _heavy_. I only hoped it wasn't a gun; I couldn't actually be too sure on what he'd think about the apartment, he may just shoot me. Well, I'd soon enough find out. He had walked into the kitchen, and was flipping his view from the sunny canisters, colorful aprons, to his rather overcrowded fridge. I swear, the vein in his head may have been protruding. He must have been speaking while I was debating how long it would take him to blow up because in one minute he was standing at the kitchen's entrance, and the next he was right in front of the island.

"Well?"

I looked at him, trying not to crack a smile at how imposing he was trying to be. Really? I mean, he was gruff and I had no doubt he was a vicious fighter, but c'mon, the man was gonna be my roommate and partner; he couldn't really kill me, could he? Well, I hoped not, in any case.

"Well what?"

"What—is—this?" He practically spit each word out as if they were some foul-tasting offense he wished to rid of soon. I pretended to think for a moment, then started picking some of my things up.

"This—is a genuine first edition Elvis bake ware collectable. And this—well, it's an apron, but it has a matching pot holder hanging up over there somewheres. Now, this here," I picked up my pie, "is a peach pie, made from scratch; the peaches were canned last year by my Mama. Now, is there anything else you need an explanation on?"

I will admit, my tone grew rather sarcastic by the end of my spiel, and I had a feeling by his growl that he could tell, and wasn't pleased about it.

"I know what it _is._ The question is what is it doing in _my _apartment?"

"Now, now, you know, I'm paying for half the rent. You're gonna have to get used to my things. Because they're not moving."

He stepped around the counter and stood in front of me. "_Yes, _they are."

Stepping closer and doing my best to look tall and vicious (I may have accomplished the latter, but there's no way I could grow half a foot in five minutes), I glared up at him. "No_, _they're _not._"

He growled again, but I stood my ground. Like hell I'd move my things; what, did he expect me to live in some characterless and bland apartment, as if there was nothing connecting me here? That's not how I'd ever lived, and I wasn't about to start now. We were at a standstill; neither one of us willing to back down.

"Look," I finally spoke, "I know you're not used to having another person living in the apartment; I'm sure you have your way of doing things. But look on the other side; I wasn't expecting to live with someone either, especially a man. We're both going to have to make adjustments. I'll make you a deal; the kitchen: everything I've put in here stays. Plain and simple. But if you want me to move my knickknacks and from the living room, I'll move them. The pictures stay, though. It's not a home if it looks as if you can pack up tomorrow."

"Spy's life."

He said it as if that one statement explained everything. But it didn't. Not to me, anyhow. I ran a hand through my hair, already frustrated. Just because you're a spy doesn't mean you have to be a ghost. I took a breath.

"Spy's life my ass."

Whoops. That's not what I wanted to say. Well, actually it was, I just meant to say it a bit politer. Well, gotta roll with the punches, I guess.

"Just because you're a spy doesn't mean you can't have an identity. It doesn't mean you have to live like some sort of ninja, unattached to the entire world. You can't live life like that. And I _won't_. So it's either my compromise or my stuff stays, as is."

"Compromise? That _wasn't_ a compromise."

"Oh really? You wanna throw out an idea of how to make this a lil' more even? Cause so far it's just been you growling at everything."

He growled again, and I gave him a look that said, 'see, I told you!' He glared at me, and I smiled.

"Well?"

"Fine. Compromise: Elvis stays in the kitchen, everything else gets the hell out, and none of your…girly stuff…in the bathroom."

"That's not a compromise! That's just you dictating everything."

One annoyed grunt, three barters, and a growl of my own found us in no better a place than we were in before. I sighed. The man was infuriating. I was actually starting to hope the box he brought in was ammunition; I'd use it to shoot his ass.

"Look, we're not going to get anywhere unless we compromise. So, I'll start. All my, 'girly things' as you called them will stay safely in my two drawers in the bathroom, so you won't be plagued or traumatized, deal?"

I waited for an answer; during the time of silence I was able to stick in the peach pie (which in all honesty, I had forgotten about). After a few minutes, he finally nodded.

"You can keep your…kitchen things out."

"And my pictures? And the John Wayne figurines?"

He spoke as if the words caused him pain. "…they can stay too."

Boy, you'd have thought I'd shot him by how upset he seemed. An angry pain. Like someone stole his candy. Except I wasn't actually sure if he ate candy. Hmm, as if somebody stole his guns. He'd be pretty angry then.

I smiled brightly. "See? That wasn't so bad! You know, if you added a couple knickknacks, or some pictures…it'd look like you lived here too."

A grunt which I was going to number four (because I like the number four) told me that he didn't really want it to look like he lived here. Psh, his problem, not mine. He left the kitchen with the unknown box and I went back to baking. Hmm, what to make? I sifted through the cabinets and finally decided to make a batch of gingersnaps. Those sounded pretty good. Alright, gonna need cinnamon, nutmeg, a little bit of ginger, some

"BETH!"

Awha! I jumped about five feet in the air, glad I hadn't grabbed the glass measuring bowl; it would have been broken in my attempt to fly. I cautiously made my way to the sound of Casey's voice, which was talking. Well, growling really. In a rather low and violent tone. Hmm, maybe I should grab some protection? Something to defend myself with…a helmet. Cause he didn't seem to happy. I walked down the hallway when I realized what he was yelling about.

He stood in the doorway of my room, his face dark with fury. He narrowed his eyes at me and pointed to my walls.

"What the hell is this!"

I bit my lip. Oh hell, must not laugh. Must not laugh. But…oh, it was too funny. I coughed to try and cover my giggles, and sought to explain. "Well, it's called paint. You can buy either water or oil based…it comes in a variety of colors…usually sold at places like Home Depot or Menards. Mine was actually a Do-It-Best hardware store."

If he frowned anymore, his mouth was gonna drop off. Oh damn, funny image! Can't laugh. No, don't do it Beth. Don't—I couldn't help it. I started laughing. A lot. He didn't even crack a smile. Oh damn, I was gonna crack a rib if I kept laughing. I dodged past him and collapsed on my bed, laughing to the sky. Once my laughter had mostly subsided, I swiveled into a sitting position.

"Alright, Mr. Gruffy. Hmm, would that make you McGruff?" The mental image of Casey as the Crime fighting dog did me in, and I laughed some more. "Ahem, sorry. Anyway, Mr. Gruffy, the apartment rules clearly state that it is acceptable to paint the rooms, so long as they're able to be painted over. I know for a fact this color can be. And granted, it is a bit bright. It just adds to the flair of the house. It wouldn't kill you to paint, you know. Then again, I'm sure you have something to say about that—probably means you'll stay longer or something, right?"

He scoffed. "No. when would a spy have time to paint? It's too much work. McGruff?"

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that. Eh, painting isn't that hard! And McGruff. You know, he's a crime fighting hound dog who teaches children that crime is wrong and the police are your friends. He teaches children the basics of home safety."

A blank stare met me. "Or…you know, just forget I called you McGruff. It's gonna be too confusing to explain."

He kept looking at me, and I started to fidget. It was unnerving. Why was he looking at me? I mean, granted, I had just called him McGruff. And that was kind of odd. But did he have to keep staring?

"Um, Casey…you're kind of…staring."

He grunted cryptically, and headed to his room. Well, alright then. Glad we got that taken care of. I mean, he didn't kill me. That was something. Pity the man didn't talk more—I always felt like I was talking to a brick wall with him. And I didn't like talking to brick walls. Not that I talked to brick walls often. John Casey was an intriguing man, I'd have to say. I mean, he never talked. _Never_. I'd only known the man for three days, and even I picked up on that. Sure, he grunted, growled, and made snarky statements, but he didn't _talk. _He didn't tell about his day, or connect something that happened to something that happened before. He didn't chat about the weather or the news or even how Ronald Reagan was a better president than JFK anyday. And it was probably going to drive me crazy. Because I talk. A lot. Well, the man was just going to have to learn to open his mouth. No way was I going to sit there chatting with some bump-on-the-log. And it was gonna start now. I was going to get the stoic John Casey to talk, whether he liked it or not.


	3. Dinner at the Bartowskis

Hi guys! Here's Chapter Three (finally)! I've been busy with finals, and it's taken me for-freakin'-ever to finish this, but...here it is. And it makes me happy. I hope it makes you happy too. You know what makes me happier than finishing this? Reviews. They make me extremely happy. And it only takes two seconds. (And by two seconds, I mean two minutes, but that's close enough). Now, it's the usual disclaimer and all-AJ's lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts, Beth is mine. Chuck, sadly, isn't either of ours'. If he or the show was, Papa B would never have died, and Shaw would have really been killed. Or nonexistant (but that's a rant for another day). Let's see...I think I've covered everything. Oh! No I haven't! Thank you, thank you, **THANK YOU** to my wonderful reviewers so far: _wassupchuck_, _CoolMushroom_, _Night Lotus Blossom_, and _chuckfan56 _(And you too, _lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts_, but that goes without saying, I think-you suffer through my writer's block and random tangents).

Now, I've said all I need to say. So...enjoy!

* * *

I scrambled around the apartment, trying to find something appropriate to wear that wasn't considered too dressy or too relaxed for a nice dinner. I mean, it was my first time meeting Chuck's sister and her friends; I wanted to make a good impression. I finally settled on a flowing white skirt, plain except for the trail of embroidered daisies along the bottom hem. I was pulling on a yellow V-neck when Casey passed by my room, still in his Buymore uniform.

"You're not wearing that, are you?"

He grunted. "I just got off work."

Shaking my head, I gave him a frown. "Let me rephrase that. You're _not_ wearing that, are you?"

Without giving him time to reply, I started tugging him back into his bedroom, rambling as we went.

"Honestly. What were you thinking? It's a dinner, and you were gonna wear that? It doesn't take too much to change."

I reached his closet first and rummaged around. Wow, that's a lot of black. And white. Does the man even own a color? Oh, a brown polo! No…brown wasn't a good dinner color. I glanced at the clothes then gave Casey the once over. Bad idea. I had to admit, he was a good lookin' man. Real good lookin'. Green may not be his color, but his polo did showcase his arms quite nicely. Okay Beth, snap outta it. Grabbing a pair of jeans and a short sleeved button down shirt, I tossed both in his direction.

"Wear those. Casual, yet still nice."

I turned to leave then suddenly remembered a question I had. "Casey, AJ mentioned how it was odd that I call you by your last name and I thought—dear God, where did you shirt go!"

I think my jaw might have dropped, but I couldn't be sure. I knew his arms were defined…I did not know, however, that he had such a nice chest. And quite a few scars as well. But that chest…

"Like what you see, Daniels?"

I slowly dragged my eyes away from his chest and faced him. Ignoring his question, I continued what I was saying before I was distracted.

"It's Beth. Most roommates call each other by their first names, so Beth is what you're gonna be calling me. I was thinking about it because I don't call you by your first name, but then, no one really does so…"

I trailed off, realizing whatever brilliant monologue I had ready in my head, it had left as soon as Casey took off his shirt. Well shoot. And now he was looking at me. Like I was saying something important. Which I was. Damn.

"Have a point to this?"

"Er, yes! It's Beth. Just plain ole' Beth. Not Daniels or any other name you may think to come up with. And would it, would it be alright to call you John?"

He gave an appraising look, and I rocked back on my heels. Please say yes, please, please say yes. Why was he giving me that look?

"You'd call me John anyway."

"Well, yeah…is that a yes?"

"…yes."

I started to reach forward to hug him, and remembered myself. Whoa, no hugs for John Casey. I awkwardly took a step back.

"So then, we, uh…I still need to get ready a bit. Then we can go. Yeah, I have to run a brush through my hair. And throw on some earrings. Then we'll go. Right? Right. Cool."

I was out of there like a rocket. That was embarrassing. As if I couldn't make a bigger fool out of myself. Well, on the bright side, we were on a first name basis! Well, by technicality only. But still, that was better than nothing.

The door opened and a smiling brunette answered.

"John! Come on in!" Catching sight of me, she pulled me into a hug. "You must be John's new roommate! AJ and Chuck have told us so much about you."

"Oh!" I returned the hug hesitantly. "All good, I hope. I haven't been in town long enough to cause trouble, I don't think."

A really buff blonde man spoke from across the room. "I don't know, heard you ruffled some feathers with your festive choice of paint."

I blushed. Well, I liked yellow. Really bright yellow. "In my defense, John said no pink. He didn't mention all colors of a vibrant variety were to be ousted as well."

Casey stepped forward, taking the two drinks Chuck was holding out, and handed one to me. Taking a sip, I scrunched my nose up. I never had been a champagne person; I much preferred the sweeter tastes of wine or mixed drinks. Champagne was a little too…dry for my tastes. I could have sworn Casey chuckled under his breath, but my attention was suddenly distracted by Chuck beginning to make introductions.

"So Beth, I heard you've met AJ already."

I tipped my glass in the short-haired brunette's direction. "Yes indeed, soon to be Orange Orange's most valued customer."

AJ laughed. "Someone's got to eat your share of yogurt. Though I don't know how much of a customer I'll be if I never have to pay."

"I think of it as an investment. If you eat it, I don't have to look at it. Plus, you always have funny Buymore stories to tell. Which helps with boredom. And I like talking to people. It's fun, and social. And"

"—you're rambling."

I stuck my tongue out at John, and started singing, "Oh I was born a ramblin' wo-maan…"

He growled, and I shrugged. "What, you're not a fan of country? Though you're right, I probably was rambling. On with introductions?"

Chuck nodded, and pointed out the girl who had hugged me and the buff man. "These are—"

"I'm Ellie, Chuck's sister. It's wonderful you've moved in; I hope we'll be seeing you around more, with you and AJ around, the girls aren't outnumbered anymore." Pointing out to the blonde man, she continued. "And this is Devon, my fiancé."

"Awesome to meet you. Good to see Casey's got a roommate now, a lil' lady love in his life is always good."

I was about to reply that Casey and I were _not_ roommates in that sense, but Ellie interjected about how they worked at the nearby hospital, and how the last member of our little posse would be arriving soon. Until then, I joined in a conversation AJ and Chuck were having about whether Nintendo, Xbox, or Playstation had the best video gaming systems. I myself was a Nintendo girl, and told them so.

"No way Playstation or Xbox could win; it's Nintendo all the way. You can't beat the originals: Donkey Kong, Mario…that's where it's at. And with the Wii, you can really get into your games, instead of just being a button masher." As an after thought, I added, "Not that there's anything wrong with that, I'm a button masher myself."

"But Xbox's graphics! Three words: Call of Duty."

AJ shook her head. "No dice, Chuck. What else can Xbox do besides play Call of Duty, Fallout, or those other games? The only thing it's good for are gore games with no sense of purpose except to shoot things. Playstation though—on the PS3, you can play DVDs, PS2and 1 games, it has a better sound system. Not to mention, you have a balance of mature and more family-friendly games, unlike Nintendo, where you only have the basic puzzle games."

"You have a point about the Xbox, AJ, but not about Nintendo. Granted, the Wii can't play movies, and its sound system may be basic, but it has more than just puzzle games. It has its fair share of RPGs—look at Legend of Zelda and Tales of Symphonia. It may not have shooting games, but honestly, what's so fun about sitting all day shooting people?"

I caught Casey's glance, and smirked. I had a feeling he probably didn't mind spending all day shooting people; it seemed to be something he excelled at. I turned back to the conversation as I heard a new voice interject.

"An argument over which system is better?"

Chuck nodded. "C'mon buddy; you're on my side, aren't you? Because Xbox has the best graphics. Besides, gamers have bought more software for the Xbox 360 (24.3 million units), than software for PS3 and Wii combined (19.8 million units)."

"Yeah, because they get tired of the Xbox games easily. Morgan, you're going to choose my side, right? Because Playstation has the best of both worlds—graphics, better sound, RPGs, Halo…you know I'm right."

My eyes widened in reply as the guy (Morgan, apparently) shook his head at both of them. "Gotta be Nintendo, man. You guys of all people should know that."

"Morgan!" "No way!" "Pardon?"

I sized the short, bearded man up—did he really take my side? Hmm, I may really start liking this town. I nodded at him. "Good choice; I wholeheartedly approve."

"Well, it just has to be, you know? It was the original. Well, not _the _original—that was Pong. But Nintendo revolutionized the gaming world, and because of that, my choice goes with Nintendo."

Before Chuck or AJ could retort, Ellie called for dinner. They all took places at the table—Devon sat at the head, with Ellie, AJ, and Morgan on one side. Across from Ellie sat Chuck, with Sarah next to him. Casey sat at the opposite end, which left me in the corner, sandwiched between Sarah and Casey.

"So, Beth, have you been this far west before? Sarah told me you're originally from TN."

I looked up from my meal to answer Chuck's question. "Well, not this far, exactly. I lived in Sugarland, TX before I moved here. And before that, I lived in Debrie, Montana for about two months. So I've lived West-ish, just not this west."

"Do you like it?"

I nodded. "Mostly. It's…different. The only other big city I've lived in was Boston…I'm not completely sure if I like the hustle and bustle lifestyle."

"Burbank's not actually a lot of hustle and bustle."

I looked to Sarah, who had spoken. "If this isn't hustle and bustle, I'd hate to ask what _is_."

Laughing, she nodded. "Fair enough. But really, it's a good city. There's a nice downtown area, but if you drive northwest for about one hundred miles, you hit the Los Padres National Forest, if that fills your country kick."

Morgan chimed in from across from me. "And further up is Sequoia National Forest—it's about a four and a half hour drive, but well worth the trip."

Hearing our conversation, AJ chimed in. "Morgan's right—we took a trip with Mr. B when we were younger there. The trees really are as big as they say they are."

"Wasn't that where Chuck dared you to climb one of the trees?"

Glaring at him, AJ shook her head. "No, that's where _he_ dared _you_, but you were too chicken to do it, so I ended up climbing up the tree, only to tear my jeans in the process, get the forest rangers mad at me, and get the scolding of a lifetime from Grandma in the process."

Morgan looked slightly abashed, while Chuck grinned. "She's right, buddy. Wasn't that when Dad stitched up the hole with- "

"—with a paperclip—"

"—and a piece of Ellie's hair ribbon," AJ finished.

Chuck looked at Ellie. "I didn't think you remembered that."

Scoffing, she nodded. "Of course I did! How could I forget—you three were always getting in trouble; it was all Dad and I could do to keep you two in line, but with AJ in the equation, it was impossible."

I smiled at the camaraderie between them. I could easily envision a young AJ, Morgan, and Chuck, causing trouble for Ellie and their father. It was probably something compared to how I acted…Mama always said I was a troublemaker.

"Well?"

Crap. The table was looking in my direction. I must have zoned out again. I really needed to stop that. Hmm, I could play it off, or just straight up…

"—they were asking about your move here."

John's voice rang next to me. Well, that made it easier for me to answer the question. Mostly. I had startled, but tried to play it off. "I _know_, John. I was just…thinking."

He raised an eyebrow. "You had to think about why you moved?

I glared at him, and didn't answer right away. Rather, I took a bite of chicken. Mainly to give me more time to answer. Sometimes food was helpful.

"Well, it wasn't that I was thinking about why I moved, but more so I was trying to fit it into words. There were a lot of reasons I moved here to Burbank. I mean, Sugarland was amazing…it's this little one-horse town. Everyone knows everybody—I mean, I didn't even need a menu at the café; after so many visits, Brenda, the matronly waitress who worked Sundays, knew what I ordered for breakfast. But a town like that, it can get stifling. Something in me told me it was time to move on, see something different. I guess it was a bit of wanderlust."

Morgan grinned. "And a little bit of our boy Casey, right?"

"Well," I wondered how I could ignore the question without saying that I hadn't actually known John Casey till I arrived. "I have to admit, Burbank wasn't on my list of cities to see. Then again, I don't really have a list. I go where the wind takes me. And when I had the opportunity to come here, I just…said yes." More or less. They didn't have to know I actually fought tooth and nail _not_ to come to Burbank. Because that was a technicality. And those didn't count.

"That's awesome. But, why'd you say yes?"

I turned to Devon. "Well, I can't exactly say for sure. It just…felt right. I mean, I couldn't pinpoint why I chose to say yes. Well, I could make some cock-and-bull story about the scenery being beautiful or it being a place of fresh air and frivolity, but honestly, I didn't feel like I had a choice. It was a need, not a want."

"Then are you planning to stay here awhile?"

It was Ellie who had asked. She seemed genuinely curious. That was sweet of her. "I think so. I don't plan on going anywhere for awhile—I'm happily settled in, and I mean, I have a job. I can't just pack up and leave. Plus, there's a lot of this town and area that I have yet to explore. And, well, cheesy as it sounds, but I feel…settled. I don't have the burning need to jet off and just travel, to follow the setting sun. So I think I'm gonna be staying here for awhile."

"I'm glad! It'll be nice to have another girl around. And you'll love Burbank—it's a good place to live. Close enough to the big cities like LA, but far enough away so you can get some peace and quiet too."

Sheesh, made it sound like the perfect city. But I couldn't blame her, from what I'd seen, it _was_ a very pretty place. Minus the yogurt shops. And lack of good barbecue. Heath-conscious Hollywood-wannabes. I don't care how much I weigh; I'm not forgoing my tasty pulled pork for rabbit food. Not that I have anything against a good salad or soup—I just don't want it overtaking my diet.

We chatted about the city for awhile, had dessert (I brought a red velvet cake), and planned the next get together (Ellie decided on a girl's night two weeks from the past Thursday, because she didn't have free time until then) when Casey stood up. Taking that as my cue, I too, stood up to leave.

"Leaving already?"

Casey grunted, "Early shift," so Ellie looked to me. Shrugging my shoulders, I spoke. "Yeah, I mean, I'm still suffering from the time change a bit. Plus, I'm working the early shift too—and if I don't get my eight hours, I become somewhat of a demon."

I heard a scoff, and Casey grumbled, "Somewhat?" I ignored him, but couldn't ignore the smile on my face. "John, just because I almost beat you with a spatula because you stole the last of the coffee doesn't mean you have to be bitter about it."

"Merde!"

AJ stared at me as if seeing me in a different light. The others, too, wore similar expressions. "What? He took the last bit of coffee, and didn't make more. In my view, that's a cardinal sin. Plus, I was already tired…and it's not like I really hurt him…I only threatened."

"If I recall, you said you'd 'split my entrails open and use them as sausage casings."

Well…hmm, yeah, I guess I did tell him that. But he took the coffee. Morgan laughed outright, and the rest of the group joined in. I blushed in embarrassment, and glanced heavenward. "Okay, so, maybe slightly more than a demon. But did I mention—last bit of coffee. Gone. None at all. It was depressing. A tragedy of my life. And then I had to go to work and work with…that clumpy milk product some people call food."

AJ laughed. "But good food. It's healthy. A little taste of heaven."

"Yeah, with the texture of hell."

After a few more similar comments on the pros and cons of yogurt, I told them that I really did need to get home so I could sleep. John left first, and I followed, stopping by the fountain to look up at the stars for a moment. It was weird—in Sugarland, the stars went on for miles. Back home in TN, you could see a million of them. I expected for Burbank to be like Boston—no stars in sight because of the city lights, but there were stars. Not as many, granted, but they were there, twinkling down on me. Jamie, my last partner (and probably the closest thing I'd ever had to a sister) always said stars were like fireflies: they were always there. Whether you could see them or not, stars would be there, just waiting for you to look a little closer. As always when I thought of Jamie, my mind flashed back to the last time I saw her. A knot formed in my stomach—too many emotions; no way to get them out. No, I didn't wanna think about it right now. Not when I still had to face someone—let those thoughts come in the dark of night—let me handle them my own way.

I caught my breath and started to head indoors. I didn't know how long I'd been standing outside, and I wouldn't put it past John Casey to send out a search party. Or just hunt me down himself, cause he seemed like that type of man. I gave one last parting glance to the stars before heading inside. No matter where I was, the stars would be there, like fireflies: always there, shining brightly, just waiting for me to see.

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Love it? Hate it? Think Morgan should have sided with AJ because PlayStation is better? Find it funny that Beth almost killed Casey with a spatula? Intrigued about this Jamie character? Let me know-push that pretty little review button! :)


	4. Brownies and Buttermilk Sundays

To readers old and new alike-here is my latest bit! As per usual, I don't own Chuck, lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts owns AJ. I only own Beth (and also Kate-you'll see who she is when you read). Let's see, thank you to all my lovely reviewers-I very much appreciate y'all taking time to read and review. So you finally get to see Beth's first interaction with some of the Buymore crew, which is always a good time. I have nothing else to say, so...

Enjoy! :)

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I finished covering my last plate in saran wrap. Okay, I had a plate for Ellie, Devon, and Chuck; I had a plate for Sarah, AJ's, the Buymore…oh! And Orange Orange. So I didn't have to eat that nasty yogurt. Was I forgetting any? No…I had doubled my Buymore plate, because Big Mike could take a plate all to himself, whoever he was. At least, that's what AJ had said. I actually hadn't gone to the Buymore before; it was destined to be interesting.

I knocked on Ellie's door, and set the plate outside. If one of them were home, they'd get the plate. And if they weren't, then they'd find it when they got home. I did AJ's in a similar fashion, then hopped in my truck for a trip to the Buymore. But first—Orange Orange.

"What's red and pink and chunky all over?"

Sarah looked up from the cash register, raising an eye at my odd riddle. "Umm, shark guts? Human entrails?"

I grimaced. "Okay, Sarah, that's just nasty. I was thinking that Strident Strawberry yogurt, actually. Which I won't have to eat—because I brought the Orange Orange snacks!"

"You call my answers nasty? You just called the food we serve 'chunky'." Moving closer to the end of the counter, where I was laying out my plates, she started shifting through the plates. I passed her a brownie while replying.

"That's because it is. They add those berry bits, and it makes the yogurt chunky. Which _is_ nasty. At least shark guts and human entrails are supposed to be chunky."

"Actually, I think they're supposed to be intact."

"Eh, same difference. We get any new 'orders' lately?"

Working at a yogurt shop had its perks. One of them being it was supremely easy to hide knowledge about spy-related things. Though it could get…innovative, at times. Asking for orders was the million dollar question.

"Nothing too new—still filing paperwork from the last one." She paused to grimace, and I had a feeling she was thinking about her high school reunion turned mission. I watched surveillance from the van; talk about a reunion from hell. Though, Casey as a DJ, dancing to Hanson…that will forever be ingrained in my memory. Absolutely priceless. "—I'll let you know if anything else comes up. Isn't this your day off?"

Nodding, I helped myself to a brownie. "Yeah, but I baked some extra desserts, and figured I'd take them around."

"Where're you headed next?"

"Right over to the Buymore—I have two plates for all of them there; plus, I promised I'd bring a plate over to Kate."

"Kate?"

Oh! She wouldn't know Kate. "Kate Reynolds. She's the co-owner of that little discount bookstore and coffee shop at the intersection of Cornell and Troy. I stop by Wednesdays usually for a latte and slice of pecan pie."

"Hmm, did you—"

"—check her background? No, because as soon as I happened to mention it to Casey, he did. I didn't need a background check—she' an open book. She's civilian; single mother with two kids. Owns the store with her mother. Used to be an accountant before she got fed up with the banking world. So she pursued her passion: baked treats. See, he learned from background checks; I learned from actually talking to her."

"Oh."

I took a breath; I know my tone had gotten defensive. I may be a spy, but I didn't believe in being so overboard; I had faith in the world. "Sorry, I didn't mean to sound so…rude. I'm just a bit…protective."

She shrugged, and I bit my lip. "Sorry. …if it makes you feel better, you're taking the knowledge a lot better than Casey did. Actually, my ears are still ringing with his snarky comments. And growls. Because heaven forbid he really speak."

She laughed at that, and I mentally breathed a sigh of relief. Good. I always forgot—most spies have a different philosophy of how you handle civilians. I figure, well, we all put our pants on the same way (I'm assuming; I actually don't know how everyone puts on their pants); they're no different from anyone else. We talked for a couple more minutes, mostly about the desserts (I explained there were different kinds of brownies—I was trying out different recipes to see if using buttermilk versus regular milk made any difference), and so after the reassurance that she would let me know which brownies she liked better, I grabbed the plates for the Buymore crew and Morgan, and headed next door for my first experience of what AJ called, "Buymoria".

My first opinion of the place, I admit, was that it was…bright. It'd be perfect for John Deere things—so much yellow and green. I actually expected to turn the corner and see a Model A sitting in the middle of the aisle. Humming to myself, I began to sing while scanning the DVDs; hey if I was gonna be in the store, I might as well shop a little.

_"In John Deere green, on a hot summer's night, he wrote "Billy Bob loves Charlene"…in letter's three foot high. And the whole town said the boy shoulda used red but it looked good to Charlene…in John Deere—"_

"Well, well, Jefferson, look what the wind's blown in."

"A hot babe…"

I turned around to glare at whoever had just called me a 'babe'. Those were _not_ terms of endearment in my book. Standing before me were two…well, I think they were human. A balding man whom my Papa woulda called 'on the wrong side of thirty-five' was outright ogling me while the shorter one—the leader of the two of them I guessed—was staring at my chest. I knew I shouldn't have worn a dress. Ugh, they were still staring. What kind of people did that? There was a major difference between appreciating and ogling—and they had leaped over ogle straight to creep. I wouldn't be surprised if one of them drove a creeper van.

I shifted slightly, and that seemed to have brought them back to life. The less creepy one (if that was possible) spoke again.

"I'm Lester. And this one here is Jefferson. We can help you find whatever you need."

At the sound of his name, Jeff momentarily came to life, nodding in a half-drunk way and saying, "Yeah, anything you need."

Right. Lester. That would figure—it sounds like a creeper name. Lester the molester. And his sidekick Jefferson, driver of the creeper van. Boy, they sure do pick 'em well here at the Buymore, don't they? I felt a twinge of sympathy for Casey—if this was who he had to deal with on a daily basis, I truly felt for him. Well, hell's bells, they were still staring. Okay, Beth—time to turn on the fierceness.

Voice sugary sweet, I smiled. "Actually, you _can_ help me…"

They both looked up in interest. Sorry, boys, but not _that_ tones, my next words came out with a smile, yet a sharp edge to them.

"First, you can stop ogling me like I'm the prize cow at the county fair. Because it's just rude. Then you can point me in the direction of where Chuck would be lurking about. And then you," I said, pointing to Jeff, "can go take a shower. And brush your teeth. Because you'll never be taken seriously if you dress and act like a slob. And _you_," I turned to give Lester my fiercest glare. "First, go get a haircut. You look like a pubescent girl. And then go pick up a book of manners from the library. Read it. Then read it to Jeff. You'll find that nowhere in it does it count staring, ogling, or acting like you're God's gift to women under appropriate forms of contact when first meeting a lady."

I spotted Chuck watching from across the room, and without skipping a beat, I neatly sidestepped the pair and headed in his direction.

"Well that was a…unique way to deal with those two."

"Why, yes, I'm doing marvelously, and how are you? Weather's been lovely as of late." Seeing his look, I shook my head. "It was the only way to deal with those two, unless you wanted to be mopping the floor with them. Actually, Lester's hair may make for a good mop…"

I half turned, and pretended to start walking back towards the Creeptastic duo. Chuck meanwhile was shaking his head. "No, no, there's no need to mop the floor with anyone today. Morgan already mopped—the floor is clean."

"Relax, Chuck. I was joking. Mostly."

He laughed, though it sounded a bit nervous. To put him at ease, I decided to make known the reason for my visit. "Don't worry. I'm not going to up and attack Buymore employees. John can handle them. Or AJ. Anyway, I brought brownies!"

"Brownies? Is that code for something? Are they going to blow up or do they have some hidden communications device in them. Let me guess: they're laced with a dose of tranquilizer?"

Hmm, maybe I should have explained myself more? To my knowledge, they wouldn't blow up…I hoped they wouldn't, in any case. That wouldn't be good for my recipe. "Um, no…they're just for eating. You know...tasty treats? People eat chocolate when they're stressed; happy, sad. I baked a lot. Way too many for just me and Casey to eat. So I made y'all plates. There are two for the Buymore Crew, and then I have Morgan's with me."

"Oh. Well…thanks?"

Man, what did Sarah and Casey do with this guy? He acted as if anything she, Sarah, or Casey did was going to have an ulterior motive. Granted, in the latter two's place, it probably was. But I didn't work that way. Papa always taught me that the best way in life was to honest. Just because I'm a spy doesn't mean I can't be an honest spy (though there were those people who thought the phrase was an oxymoron).

"Don't thank me yet—you haven't tasted them. I'm not actually sure how good they are. I mean, Sarah said they were good, but she could have been lying. And I liked them, but they're chocolate. And I pretty much like anything chocolate. And I mean—"

"—Beth"

"—Yeah, yeah, I know, I'm rambling. I'm done now." Looking up at Casey, I shrugged. "I do that. You should know that by now."

He grunted, and I nodded. That was grunt number eight, a 'well, I guess that's true' reply. It was almost sad that I was getting to know the difference between them. Though I owed the list Chuck had made—it helped. And whenever there was a new growl, I added it. We were currently up to twenty-three. Pretty impressive—I actually think that's more than the number of sounds a dog makes. Not that John Casey was a dog. Hmm, good thing the man couldn't hear my thoughts—good thing no one could hear my thoughts, actually. They'd be a little frightened.

"Oh, brownies!"

I looked up to see Morgan, AJ, and one other girl. From the glare AJ was giving her, and the way she was practically groping Morgan in public, I assumed she was Anna.

"Who made the brownies?"

I winced as Anna spoke. Her voice was…annoying. And her skirt was way too short. Didn't she have any decency? She was working at a store, not a whorehouse. Well, maybe that was her side job. By the way Jeff was looking at her from across the room; I think he wanted that to be her day job, or night job, as it were.

"Did you make them, Beth?"

"Yep, Morgan, I made them. Had extras and thought y'all might like some. There are two plates for the Buymore people. And there's a plate for you, too."

At the mention of a plate being made for Morgan, Anna's arms wrapped possessively around him, and I rolled my eyes. Really? Did she think I was going to steal her boyfriend with brownies? He's not my type. And I wouldn't need to bake brownies to attract him. Lord, I hoped they wouldn't be together long. She was way too possessive—that's not a healthy relationship right there. Plus she was, from what I'd seen (and possibly from what I'd heard), she was a fishnet-wearin', class A lady of the evening. Or, as we called them down south, a regular ole' whore. She controlled Morgan as if he were a puppy, not her boyfriend. I could understand why AJ didn't like her (in general—I knew it was more than just dislike, though. I saw the way AJ looked at Morgan—she was in love, she just didn't know it yet).

"That one tastes different."

Taking a breath, I asked God for a little patience. "Yes. They do. That's because there's two different kinds of brownies—one made with milk and one made with buttermilk. The buttermilk makes for a creamier texture."

"Isn't that fattening?"

Oh lord, patience please. A bit of patience. "Yes, if you're worried about that sort of thing. It'll blow up your thighs and bulge your stomach. And it even causes cankles. Heaven's forbid!"

Morgan, who was busy rounding off his second brownie, almost choked. AJ patted him on the back, laughing the whole time. Casey grunted in an amused fashion. Even Chuck chuckled a bit. The only one not laughing was Anna. She had her hands on her hips, and was glaring at me. Like I cared. Ugh, someone had to tell that little ho off. And if no one else was going to, I would. My voice growing cold, I continued. "So don't eat them, then, if you're so concerned. Leave them for someone who appreciates them. Because Lord forbid we let brownies and buttermilk rule the world. You know, where I grew up, it was considered a compliment that someone thought to take their time and bake something for someone else. It's called hospitality. But obviously, where you grew up, the only important part is whether or not it will add an inch to your waistline. Well let me tell you, you can rest assured, next time I bake, I'll make sure to omit you from the list—unless I want to try to bake some vegan, tofu, no-fat, tasteless and textureless crap you obviously eat."

"Hey, Beth, can I have her share then?" AJ asked, a glint of mischief in her eyes. "These are amazing!"

"If Morgan doesn't eat them all, then yes—mind you, you have a plate of your own waiting on you back at the apartment. Woulda brought it, but seemed kinda silly, you living so close. Same with Chuck's plate."

Morgan, still finishing his brownie, snuck another one from the plate. "Dude, there's more?"

Laughing, AJ threw an arm around his shoulders. "Morgan, comrade, if you're not tired of them by Tuesday, I'll make sure to save mine for when we battle through Star Wars: The Force Unleashed."

I smirked at the look on Anna's face. Pure jealous rage. Oh, it made me laugh. Did that make me evil? …nah, the girl insulted my brownies. She purposely scooted closer to Morgan, who was laughing with AJ about something.

"Morgan, don't you have to stock the DVDs?"

He half-turned, oblivious to Anna's glare which was aimed straight at AJ's arm, still casually draped across Morgan. "Huh? Oh, Lester took care of that." He turned back to AJ, until, "Then shouldn't you be manning the Nerd Herd counter?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess someone should. Hey AJ, you still haven't explained how you managed to beat my score in Call of Duty—there's no way you could have taken down that many enemies!" He started to walk towards the Nerd Herd desk, AJ still attached.

"Well Morgan," she said, shooting a glance over at Anna, a gleam in her eye, "It's all about strategy."

After watching Morgan and AJ walk off, Anna gave a parting look of disgust and headed off to 'fill out some invoices'. Yeah, sure, like I believed that. She was probably going to her locker to go poke some pins in AJ and Morgan voodoo dolls. I wouldn't put it past her. Looking up at Chuck and Casey, I noticed they were giving me funny looks—Chuck's was something akin to a bit of shock.

"You just….shut Anna up," he said, sounding a little dazed.

"Well, yeah. Because, honestly, she's a bit controlling. Morgan doesn't need a woman like her—she's the kind that turn stalkerish. Not that I really know Morgan. But, he doesn't seem like the type to flourish under a relationship like that. I've had men like Anna—and it's not pretty."

Realizing I'd probably said too much, I mentally slapped myself. Darn me and my big mouth. Before either could question it, I quickly continued. "Plus, what kind of a person worries about one little brownie? It's not like it was sitting there, screaming 'Eat me!'. She could have politely declined, instead of getting that 'holier-than-thou' tone and snubbing my dessert."

Casey grunted amusedly, and I shrugged my shoulders. "Well, it's true!" I happened to hear the chime of a clock, and looked up. Crap! What time was it?

"Hey Chuck, got the time?"

He nodded. "It's almost…noon. Why?"

"Monkeys! I didn't realize I'd let it get so late. I still have to deliver Kate her plate—and the store closes early today. I'm sorry to just jet off—I hope you guys enjoy the brownies!"

I swiveled and headed to the exit, neatly side-stepping Jeff and Lester. In the background, I heard a comment about 'shapely thighs' and something came over me. I wasn't the type of girl to accept someone blatantly disrespecting me by talking about my body as if it were a piece of meat. I stopped quickly, and turned go give them a piece of my mind. But, someone had already beaten me to it. John was standing in front of them, and by the way his fists were clenched, he was pretty mad. I couldn't tell what he was saying, but whatever it was, Lester and Jeff were clearly and thoroughly threatened. Actually, Lester looked like he was gonna be sick. Ha! Good. After putting the fear of God (I could only assume that's what he was doing) in them, he turned, and raised an eye in a 'what are you still doing here?' manner. I gave him a small smile, and mouthed 'thank you'. Nodding slightly, he turned to head towards the appliance section, and I headed out the door to my truck. Well it certainly was an interesting twist of event—a nice twist, but crazy nonetheless. Well, for whatever reason, John Casey had my gratitude. My respect for him shot up some points. Checking my watch, I realized I had fifteen minutes to get to Kate's. Well, time to put the pedal to the medal.

Turning my truck on, I grinned when I heard the song that was playing. I started singing along, _"—And the whole town said the fool shoulda used red but it looked good to Charlene…in John Deere green."_

Later that afternoon found me curled up on the couch watching a seven episode Bonanza marathon. I mean, if we didn't have any missions, I was going to spend my Sunday doing what I wanted to do, which, in this case, was watching Adam Cartwright kick some serious butt and get his charm on in the very first episode: "A Rose for Lotta".

"Oh, c'mon! Give it up, Little Joe—she's never gonna like you. Adam's the older man, smarter, more handsome—you're just a kid, with your boyish charms and your playing ways. Oh, no, you idiot! What are you doing? I—ugh. Idiot."

"Problem?"

I looked over the couch to see John standing in the doorway, eyebrow rose in his typical 'why am I stuck with a weirdo like you' look.

"No problem—unless you count unresolved anger at fictional characters under the 'problem' category. How was work?"

He grunted, and walked back to his room to change clothes. Well, I assumed he was changing—if I were him, I would be. No way would I want to wear the green and yellow combo all day. I turned back to my show—the next episode had already started. Hmm, Hoss going fishing...falls asleep…yes! It was Hoss and the Leprechauns! I heard rustling in the corner, and saw Casey was sitting down at what I'd dubbed our 'spesk' also known as a spy desk. It was where he had all the monitors and surveillance equipment on the Buymore, Chuck's house, and Castle. I'd sometimes glance over the Buymore (note to self: after seeing what happened on that couch in the home theatre room, no way was I _ever_ going to sit there. Period.) And at Castle (because nothing exciting ever happens in Castle) but frankly, I hated surveillance. It was so…boring. Nothing exciting ever happened on surveillance. Yet there he was, on a Sunday, putting the earphones on and…surveying. But…it was Sunday. The man was nuts.

"Are you really going to sit there and watch surveillance? What kind of a Sunday is that?"

He grunted, and went back to watching. Well, I couldn't stand for that—the man needed a break.

"You know it's a Sunday right? You're not thinking it's a weekday and ya have to work, are ya? Sunday's a day of rest. You should be…well, resting."

"Don't need to rest."

"It's not that you need to! It's that you can. C'mon—surveillance is so boring—why don't you come watch TV?"

A negative grunt had me shaking my head. It'd be pulling teeth, but come hell or high water, I was getting' the man to relax. I'd succeed. I was stubborn as could be, and would put that into use.

"Oh come on—this should be your type of show. Guns and men who tend to shoot first and ask questions later. Besides, I should just tell you know, I'm not going to stop until you at least watch an episode—it's in your best interests just to give up the goat and join me."

I turned back to catch a funny part of the episode (Because, who doesn't love when Adam goes, 'He skips away to the bushes, with merry twinkle in his eye, he thumbs his nose and flies away to the rainbow'?). The only thing that would make this episode better were those brownies I baked. I know I had another plateful…but that required getting up. Well hell's bells. Maybe…hmm. In the sweetest voice I could muster, I spoke again.

"Hey, Casey?"

Grunt. Hmm, sounded slightly irritated and bored. See—this is why he needed to stop working and start lazing. "So, you'd be my most favorite person if you fetched me the plate of brownies from the counter. And a glass of milk. So, whatdya say?"

"Dogs fetch. I don't."

"So…that's a no?"

He let out another annoyed grunt, fiercer than the first, and I sighed. Well shoot. The only saving grace was I'd seen the episode a million times, so I wasn't really missing anything. After perusing the baked goods, I grabbed a plate with an assortment of brownies, and a couple cookies. (I know, that's a lot of dessert, but I'd work it off later. Or next week. If I felt like it.) One tall glass of milk later, and I headed back into the living room. Once there, I realized immediately that Casey had moved. He wasn't watching surveillance anymore. He was, however, laid out on the couch. And looking pleased as punch. Well, pleased by Casey standards, anyway.

"You're in my spot."

"Mhm."

I shrugged, and set my plate and glass down. No matter. Moving his legs, I slid under them so I was sitting with my legs propped on the coffee table. Grabbing my plate of goodies, I set to munching. Hoss had just told Charlie he was hunting for leprechauns a little longer, when John chose to spoke.

"Comfy?"

Swallowing my bite of brownie, I nodded. "Quite. Brownie?"

I offered the plate to him, and he grabbed one. "That one has chocolate chunks in it, I think. The frosted ones don't have any, but their topping is fudge, so it balances out."

"Where'd the brownies come from?"

"Umm, I made them. How come?"

"When?"

"Um…sometime yesterday…who are you, the brownie police?" I had no idea where the conversation was going.

"They weren't there last night."

Um…well, that was a problem. What was he doing—giving the apartment a once over before he went to bed? I mean, technically, they weren't there last night—they were made in the wee hours of the morning. Because I couldn't sleep. Normally, if I couldn't sleep, I'd bake something. Or a lot of something. Well, he didn't need to know. It was none of his business.

"Yes they were. You must not have seen them."

He gave me a 'do you think I'm an idiot' glare, and I held his glance. First thing to know when telling a lie: make eye contact. Because liars don't. It was a battle of wills, and I wasn't sure who was going to win. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the fight scene start and quickly changed the subject.

"Oh, look! The best part's coming up—this fight scene is hilarious—the Cartwrights get their butts kicked, but then they kick butt, and it's awesome!"

At my excitement, he rolled his eyes, muttering something unintelligible.

Tapping his knee with my hand, I grinned at him. "Don't know what you said, but you'd better get used to this. They're having a month-long Sunday Bonanza bonanza—you'll learn to love the Cartwrights." Pausing, I tilted my head in concentration. "And then, after that, we can start on the Elvis movies—that'll take us into next year practically. I can tell you're excited. Aren't you excited?"

He groaned, and this time I was able to hear him grumble about something about a mediocre has-been. I grabbed a blanket from the back of the couch, and settled in. There were still five more episodes to watch, and I wasn't going to let Casey leave until he'd watched them all. Nothing beat curling up on the couch with chocolate, watching old shows and educating your roommate in the ways of said old shows on a Sunday afternoon.

* * *

Well that was fun, right? Hope you enjoyed it! By the way, if you haven't seen the Bonanza episode Hoss and the Leprechauns, you should. Because it's amazing. Lemme know what you think-review! :)


	5. Mom, We're Not Having this Conversation

Merry Christmas! (Or whatever holiday you celebrate, if you celebrate). :) I didn't think I'd get this one out in time for Christmas, but here it is! As you know, Chuck's not mine, Beth is, along with her mother and father, who appear in this piece.

Slight warning-Near the end, Beth gets a bit...religious. Don't like, don't read. Let's see, is there anything else I have have to say? Oh! Have a wonderful holiday-eat good food, relax, have fun! If there's snow in your area (we have a bunch where I live, it's perfect for sledding), go play in it! Or at least look at the prettiness from the warmth of the indoors. So, I'm gonna stop typing-why read this when you can read the story?

Enjoy!

* * *

Bring. Bring Brrriiinnngg. Bri—"John speaking…sure, hold one."

He tossed the phone in my direction. "Yours." I furrowed my brow. Who'd be calling me at this hour?

"Hello?"

"Beth? Is that you? I thought I had the wrong number. Who was that man on the phone?"

I sighed and nodded to myself. Of course, the time is different in Tennessee. And it was Saturday. I told Mom that if she wanted to call, today was the best day. I didn't take into account that it'd be later over here. "My roommate. Remember, I told you about Casey?"

"That's Casey? I thought Casey was a girl."

"No Mom. John Casey, Casey's his last name."

"But honey, he's a man. You can't share a room with a man. What about your reputation?"

I sighed in exasperation and plopped into a chair. "Mom! He's my roommate, not bedmate. We're not romantically involved."

"Speaking of that,_ are_ you involved with anyone?"

"We're not having this conversation."

"No man then? What about that Charlie-man?"

"It's Chuck, mom. And he's involved in some strange relationship with Sarah."

"Well then what about that Casey fellow? He sounds like someone you would date."

My mouth dropped in shock and I looked over at the aforementioned man who was staring back questioningly. Shaking my head emphatically (although I knew Mom wouldn't be able to see), I answered after a moment. "Casey? No, we—here, give dad the phone. How's he..."

"He seems polite, just a bit quiet. You really need a man; you don't take care of yourself. And I want some grandkids."

"Mom, Mom, MOM! Hand the phone to dad or I'm hanging up!"

"Oh pish. You won't hang up; you've threatened to a million times and still haven't. Besides, don't you want a family?"

"We have been over this a thousand times. My job isn't conducive to raising a family at the moment. Now give the phone to dad."

"Oh fine. You're worse stubborn than Ole' Dan."

I heard mom's busy chatter in the background, and rolled my eyes. God love my mom, but some days, she talks faster than anyone, including herself, can keep up with. The phone thudded, I heard some scuffling, and then

"Hey there pumpkin, how's California treatin' ya?"

I smiled as Dad's mellow baritone rolled through the phone. "California's pretty good. Don't have trees like ours' though. And they'll never have the beautiful Smokeys like us either. How are you, Dad?"

"Oh, can't complain. Been workin' in the tobacco fields. Had to brin' a load a cows 'cross the ole' field thar in the back t'other day. Made it through, but it got a lil' narry thar for awhile."

"Glad ya got 'em all through safe. How's Zach and Ash? And the boys?"

"Both are pert' good. The boys miss ya. Say the scenery's a lot prettier when you're home."

"Course they would. I'm sure they've got plenty of pretty belles comin' round the property. I wonder when Tony's finally gonna settle down with his lil' gal?"

"Soon, if she has any say in it. Pumpkin, yer Mama's wavin' round something fierce for the phone. Gonna hand ya back over, that a'right?"

"Sure thing. I love you Dad. You keep yourself healthy and safe for me. I'll visit soon, I promise."

"I know. You be safe now. I don't want any more phone calls about my daughter bein' injured. Now here's yer Mama."

"Mom?"

"Yes of course, who else would it be? Now, were you talking about Staci and Tony?"

"No Mom. I was talking about the other Tony. Tony the tiger."

"Don't play smart with me, young lady. With your cheek, I don't know how you'll ever find a man."

"Mom. Remember when I almost hung up on you? We are not talking about my personal life."

"Oh, did I tell you? Ryan's eloped."

"He—what?"

"Pardon, not what. And he up and eloped with some lil' high school gal. Ruffled a lot of feathers doin' it. Fancy him robbin' the cradle. Me and your daddy always thought you two would get married."

"Well thank heavens your thoughts didn't come true. We wouldn't have worked out. Why'd they elope? Do you know?"

"No idea, but word around town is that the child's pregnant. Can you imagine? She's only eighteen."

I sighed and shook my head. "His child? It wouldn't surprise me if it _was._"

"It couldn't be his child. He's such a good man."

"Psh. Sure Mom, whatever you say."

"And you have reason to think different?"

"I—Mom, I think I preferred you debating my personal life. In any case, how are grandma and grandpa? And everyone else?"

"Are you changing the subject? I don't think we've finished this conversation."

"We have. Consider the conversation fully developed and dropped. Now grandma?"

"Fine. But don't think it's over. Everyone here's doing well. They all miss you. Which reminds me, when were you going to tell us you had vacation? And why on Earth didn't you come visit your family?"

Shit. "Um, how'd you find out I was on vacation? I mean, not that I was."

"Beth Audrey Daniels, don't you dare lie to your own mother. You were gone for two months, no call, no letter. All the while you were in Texas, of all places. What on earth could be in Texas for you to visit!"

"Um, they had good tex-mex?"

"This is not the time for jokes, young lady! You haven't seen your family for how long? I'd say at least a year. Not to visit your own flesh and blood. It's ridiculous."

"I'm sorry Mom. But I knew I wouldn't get rest if I came home. I'd be runnin' around. I'll come visit soon. I'll take a week or two off and fly out there. Will that appease you?"

"No. I'm still mad. But it will be good to see you. Now child, I have to go, or I'm gonna burn the biscuits."

"Homemade biscuits? You said that just to make me jealous, didn't you?"

"Now, would I be so cruel to my own daughter? No, don't answer that question. You take care of yourself, ya hear? And maybe find a man and settle down?"

"I always take care of myself. And you're never going to give up on that, are you? Take care of dad and yourself. Say hi to the family for me."

"I won't give up. Someday, I'll have grandbabies. And I will. I love you Beth."

"Love you too. Bye Mom."

I set the phone down and shook my head. I had to admit, I missed 'em both a bit. It _had_ been some time since I'd visited. I flung my legs over the edge of the armrest.

"Hey John? D'you ever miss your family?"

"No."

I almost jumped at the conviction in his statement. The man was lying. But I wouldn't call him out on it. "Oh, okay. …Hey John?"

Grumble.

"Are you the oldest in your family?"

"Are you?"

Heh. That's not fair! He turned the question around on me. Deflecting the question…must not want to talk about family. "I'm the only. Mom and Dad wanted more kids, but they were only ever able to have me."

"Why didn't they adopt?"

"Well, once I got to be a lil' bit older, they realized what a handful I'd be, and decided that one was enough. Leastways that's what they say. _I _say it's because after me, their children could only get worse. Besides, there was always a steady flow of guests at our house anyway; people Dad hired to help with the crops, or ones Mom offered a room to when they were down on their luck, so I was never lonely."

He growled something akin to disbelief. "Yeah, not lonely because of potential murders in your house."

I shook my head. "It wasn't like that. They were always good people. Like…oh! This one time, Mama found this older man, he musta been in his sixties. And he was a travelling umbrella salesman. He would buy these umbrellas and paint these gorgeous murals on them—of all different kinds of things. Well, he hadn't had a decent meal in quite some time, so Mom offered him a place to stay. That was the year half the crops caught fire; we had a drought that lasted from summer to early winter almost. I musta been around eleven I think."

"An umbrella salesman?"

"Yep, a travelling one at that…oh, here, I know!" I ran out of the room, returning with my arms laden with goods. "Here, this will explain it more."

I took the blue-handled umbrella and opened it. To hell with seven year's bad luck. "See? He was an amazing artist. He showed up in last week of September, and stayed till November. Left just after Thanksgiving. He painted on this umbrella every Sunday, and I always wanted to know what he was doing, but Mom told me not to bother him. That Thanksgiving, he gave me this."

I reached out to trace the fine brushstrokes of the mural he painted. Every two sections took up one picture "Four pictures, he said, to represent four different pieces of me."

"You're a weed?"

"Wildflower, jerk. Besides, even weeds are beautiful. They're only unwanted because there's so many of them."

"What does that one symbolize?"

I looked to where he pointed. Right between the wildflower and a portrait of lynx was an abstract swirl of blues and whites, in the middle of which was a bit of green. A yearling evergreen stood tall against the swirl of snow, under which set a brilliantly red cardinal, protected from the wind's fury.

"Actually, I'm not sure. I asked him once, and he told me I'd learn in time. I never pushed it. For some reason, it's my favorite scene, even if I don't understand what it means."

He grunted, but seemed intrigued about the umbrella. Setting it to the side, I flopped down next to Casey, a colorful albeit hulking album in my hands.

"Wanna see pictures of my folks? Mom and Nana made this for me last Christmas, but I haven't actually looked through it yet."

He grunted, and I assumed that meant yes. Opening the album, I smiled as the page was filled with pictures of me at the hospital. The first one I saw was Mom, hazel eyes shining with love, holding a tiny pink thing I'm assuming was me. I smiled when I read the description next to it. _Our little miracle, Beth Audrey. Cute as a button, looked just like her daddy. And she was about as much trouble too._

"Troublemaker…about sums you up."

I punched him halfheartedly in the arm. "I'll have you know I was a wonderfully behaved child."

"That apparently didn't carry on until adulthood."

"And you were an angel?"

He gave no answer, and I flipped to the next page. We sat like that for awhile, both of us looking through the album, sometimes commenting on one thing or another. Often, I'd fill him in on some part of my childhood which was necessary for certain pictures. I happened to glance down first at the upcoming page, and proceeded to move on.

"You're skipping a page."

"Um, no I'm not. Why would I skip a page? I mean, well, maybe I am. But it's a big album; you can't possibly want to see every single picture of me."

I kept rambling as he flipped back to see why I had chosen to move along. I buried my face in my hands, not wanting to witness the orange and black and…

"You were a fish?"

"I glanced up to glare at him."Mermaid, not fish."

"You have a tail."

"Fin, not tail. Didn't you dress up for Halloween?"

"No."

"That's a lie! You had to have dressed up! Hmm…you were probably a warrior. Samurai maybe? Jedi? Or the classic gunslingin' cowboy?"

He grunted, and I figured I maybe hit a weak spot. "Oh, c'mon! Just tell me! You've already seen my worst…actually, I can't say that. Mom might have put that genie photo up there; she better not have, I'll kill her. What was it?"

"Policeman."

I grinned as I pictured a ten year old John dressed up as a miniature version of an officer. I tried not to laugh, but couldn't resist. I don't know why it was so funny to me…but it was kind of weird for me to picture John Casey as a child-I know he had to be one, but he always seemed like the type of man to just…be. A legend, like John Wayne. Or Chuck Norris. So actually envisioning him as a child…priceless.

I tried to reign in my laughter, and managed on the second or third try to choke out a reply. "So…so…I bet you were an adorable policeman! Did you take your job seriously, and try to arrest people? I bet you weren't as serious a child as you were an adult. Why don't you have any pictures around the apartment of your family? Or even of you at various stages of your life?"

He grunted, and I assumed it was maybe a topic best left alone…for now. Though I was definitely filing it away for later use. I flipped the page, eager to move the topic of conversation along. A couple pages of Halloween and autumn-related pictures later, we arrived at what I automatically knew would be my favorite part of the scrapbook: Holiday photos.

The gold and green ribbons on the page circled around pictures of the house decorated, over twenty years of opening presents Christmas morning. There were pictures of the decorations—the barn, and our traditional live nativity.

"Is that a donkey?"

I glanced down at the picture he was pointing too—it was one with me, age thirteen, seated on the back of, yep, a donkey.

"Yep, that's Molasses. He's actually the Comer's—they're the farm down the road. Raised donkeys and mules. Actually, they're how we got Ole' Dan—our mule."

"Why are you on a donkey?"

"It's our annual Live Nativity."

At his blank stare, I elaborated. "The whole town gets together, and we do a live nativity. It's basically a living depiction of the nativity scene. I was Mary that year."

"What'd you do?"

"Well, nothing really—I don't really know how I was chosen."

"No, I mean, what do you do for the nativity scene?"

"Oh. Well, I sat, and held baby Jesus. And people brought their families to watch and to pray. It's amazing to participate."

He grunted, but it was a grunt I didn't know.

"What?"

He grunted again, and I sighed. "That's not an appropriate response. I can't answer your question or reply to your comment when I can't understand what it is. You're gonna have to speak."

"It's just a scene."

I paused before answering, taking a moment to look at Casey in a new light. I didn't know if the man had a religion. I knew he believed in his country, so I'd assumed God was in there too. But this was a man who'd been in more black ops missions than I could count (I'd looked at his file); he had to have been through some tough spots. He'd been tortured in Afghanistan—how could he not have a religion?

But then… I thought of my own struggles. And I knew I hadn't always been there in my faith—when I hit rock bottom, I doubted. I had trouble believing God was there, after everything that had happened. I mean, I couldn't even _think_ about it. But, after awhile, even though the wounds hadn't fully healed, somewhere along the way, I realized I needed Him. I had tried to figure things out on my own, and it didn't work. It was only with God that I'd be able to heal. Even if it was a slow process. The nativity…how could I explain everything I felt when I participated? Or even when I was simply a viewer? Well, I'd try—it was all I could do.

"It's not just a scene. It's…well, it's life. It's true and real. I've always adored the nativity scene—there was something incredibly humbling about seeing your Lord and Savior born from such humble beginnings. I mean, he didn't even have a bed. Mary had to use a manger. Which is basically a fancy word for a feeding trough. When I was Mary for the live nativity, the only job I had was to hold baby Jesus, and stay still. I sat cradling Lucas, he was our Baby Jesus—Lucas Ryder—for over two hours while people from town passed by to pray and just…look. And during those hours, I thought about a lot of things. At first, I thought about how cold it was. And then how odd it was to have Civel Wellington playing Joseph—he was a junior in high school; I hardly knew him. But then, when I thought about it, I wondered if that was how Mary felt. I mean, she didn't exactly chose to get married at such a young age. She was just thirteen, like me. She was probably still playing games, and being a child. But her parents said she had to get married, and so she had no choice. And then to have an angel appear and tell you you're going to have a baby, even though you've never been with a man, and he's going to the Savior of the world…she must have thought she was crazy.

I would have. I mean, sometimes the thought of children scares me still. And I'm twenty-seven years old! It couldn't have been easy for her. I mean, she grew to love Joseph, yes, but it wasn't like that at first. And then, how Joseph must have felt! Because he truly loved Mary. And then to be told that she was pregnant. When _clearly_, he hadn't been with her. But, you know, she said yes. She believed in God, had faith, and look where it got her. A beautiful baby born on a clear Christmas night. A loving husband whose love went deeper than just an emotional attachment—he loved her regardless of what others said of her—he loved her mind, body, and soul. And the love of a man greater than even him. She had favor with the Lord, because she had faith. A faith that strong…even in my days of strongest days, I could only hope to be as humble and faithful as Mary was. She's the role model for all women out there. Complete trust in the Lord—everything else will fall into place."

I took a breath. Whoa, I didn't realize I had monopolized the conversation so…completely. I chanced a glance at John. Normally, he'd tell me I was rambling. But he didn't. He looked…pensive. Neither of us spoke—we both let the silence sit for awhile, until John spoke in a low voice.

"Trust isn't that easy, Beth."

I looked at him. Not just at him, but _at him_. Looked not at his features—his brown-black hair, chiseled jaw, or his blue eyes—but I looked at _him._ John Casey as a man. Not just as a soldier—that was only one part of him. This was a man who'd been to hell and back—a man whose scars ran deeper than I could even begin to know. A man who was more soldier than anything else. Who kept everyone at arm's length because he was there one moment, and gone the next, off on another mission in another country. It couldn't be easy living that sort of lifestyle, with no place to really call home. It was clear he didn't talk about his family; they may not even be alive. In a moment of compassion, I grabbed his hand, holding it in both of mine, and I looked in his eyes.

"It's never easy, John. Life wasn't meant to be easy. Sometimes you get knocked down; you lose your will to fight. Bad things happen all the time—and sometimes, they happen to you. But you can't just lose the will to live—you can't just throw your arms up and say, 'Alright God, that's it—I'm done. Just take me back—return to sender. I can't do it anymore.' You have to keep on living. If not for others, then for yourself. There's always something to live for. Even if you can't see it right now, there's _always_ something worth the fight. God's there to help you find it—he _is_ it."

When I had begun, my tone was a whisper, but by the end, my voice had grown stronger. So it came as a surprise to me when John spoke, his voice so low that I had to lean to hear him.

"What do you live for?"

I…what did I live for? His question caught me by surprise. I…well, I didn't really know how to answer that one. I guess I lived for my family. And I lived for my job. And for Jamie…without needing to think anymore, I knew the answer to his question.

"I live for a better day. I live for a time in the future when I can look back and say, 'I struggled, but I made it'. When I can help others by telling them I felt their pain, I suffered like they did, and I conquered. And if I could make it, if I could face the darkness of hell, the demons breathing fire down my back, and I could defeat them, then anyone can."

He looked at me like he was seeing me in a new light, or rather, really _seeing_ me for the first time. There were questions in his eyes—I could tell. He wanted to know what hardships I faced; what pain and darkness I had seen in my years of living. But that was something I couldn't share. Not yet. Not now. Something in his gaze held me to him. I didn't know what it was, but it pinned my gaze to his, neither of us saying anything. I was the first to look away, breathing a slight sigh of relief. That gaze…I could tell—my heart was beating faster than it should have been—and it was odd.

"I should, um, probably go to bed soon—it's been a long day."

He nodded and grunted in agreement. Standing up, I stretched then grabbed my things. "Sleep well, John."

Another grunt was the only goodnight I'd get, and I quickly made my way to my bedroom. I didn't know what it was, but something had changed. In the course of the evening, there'd been a shift in our relationship, and for better or worse, I was gonna have to roll with it. Sleep didn't come quickly for me; it never did. I lay awake in bed, trying to pinpoint the hidden emotions I saw locked in John's eyes. A flicker of something as we locked gazes. Something like hope, or redemption? John Casey was searching for something, and I wanted to be the one to help him find it.

* * *

So, Beth's parents are certainly interesting! Anyone else crack a smile at the vision of a young John acting as policeman? And what was that in John's eyes at the end? Will we find out? I could tell you...but that'd make the story tremendously shorter, and it's more fun to read! :) As always, feel free to review and let me know what ya think!


	6. Bugged

Hello dear readers! So here's the next piece-a bit of a switch from the sentimental last chapter-tempers will flare, words will be said, and things may or may not be thrown at other people. All in a good day's writing, right? So, you know the drill-Chuck = not mine; Beth, Kate, and other characters you don't recognize = mine (Except for AJ; she's lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts).

Without further ado, here it is!

* * *

Iwas baking. Big surprise there. Why was I baking? Because if I didn't move my hands in a productive manner, I was going to ring somebody's neck, namely that damn roommate of mine. I couldn't _believe_ him! I was…I punched the dough unnecessarily hard. Damn him. I was going to ring his ever-loving neck. How dare he!

My thoughts turned blacker and blacker and I admit, I took it out on the bread I was baking. I heard the front door click, but kept working with the dough. I needed to get control of my temper. Losing my cool wouldn't be good now. Think calming thoughts. Like the country and chocolate and tea and a nice long shower…damn him!

"Baking again?"

I looked up only to glare at him and return to my task. I wasn't going to talk. If I talked, I was going to say something probably not very nice.

"Got a problem, Daniels?"

Oh hell no! Not after what he did…he thought _I _had a problem! No freakin' way. _He_ was gonna have a problem in about 2.5 seconds. Breathing…breathing…I clenched my fists while kneading the dough. Deep breath…nope, not helping. I looked up, my tone brusque.

"Are you just going to stand there taking up space and stating the obvious? Least you could do something productive."

He growled, a definite 'bring it on' type growl, and I don't know what came over me, really, I don't. I just…my patience and my calm (if I had any) flew out the window.

"What, can't think of something productive? Why don't you check out the surveillance—might as well, right? There's Chuck to spy on, Buymore to watch, Castle to patrol. Or hell, why don't I just go take a shower, and give you a show."

His expression was unreadable—he looked the epitome of stoicism and calm; whereas, I…was not. He kept staring, and I glared.

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

He didn't speak, just kept staring. Growing frustrated, I went back to the bread, rolling it out and kneading it again.

"Precautionary detail."

Oh _fuck_ no. "You bugged my room! Our bathroom! How the hell is that a precautionary detail?"

I didn't give him time to answer—my hands were practically shaking with fury. "Do you even know how violated I feel right now? Why didn't you at least warn me? You're supposed to be able to trust your partner! And I don't know about you, but I can't exactly do that when I know _for a fact_ that the said partner has no qualms about watching my every move—even if that means violating my privacy by spying on me in the shower or while I'm sleeping or changing or whatnot!"

He still didn't answer. Just stood there, face unreadable. I hated that face. It said nothing-I couldn't get a read on it, and that really irked me.

"For the love of Peter Pan, aren't you going to say _something!"_

"Nope."

Why he ought to…he…argh! That was it. I'd had it. Act like it was an everyday occurrence to spy on just anybody and their brother.

"So you're just going to stand there with that damn look on you face?"

He grunted, and before I even knew what I had decided to do, I had grabbed up a hunk of dough and hurled it in the air at Casey's face. I had no doubts he could have dodged it, had he seen it coming. But it surprised him as much as it surprised me. I probably should have been scared…I mean, he was a pretty formidable man, but I was too mad. So mad I couldn't even speak. I dropped the rest of the dough, and wiped my hands on a towel. Not really caring I was leaving a mess, I walked past him and out of the apartment. Damned if I was going to spend another minute there. I passed AJ on my way out, but didn't' stop as I headed to my truck. I needed something really chocolaty, and I needed it _now._

I ended up driving to Kate's "Tomes and Treats" bookstore. It wasn't a Wednesday, but I still desperately needed something sweet to eat. Kate looked up from the register when I entered.

"Well, look what the wind blew in! Want your normal?"

I nodded, and went to take my usual spot by the window, facing the door. It was to my surprise someone was already sitting there. A male, I'd say late twenties, early thirties, was sitting with his back to me, facing the wall. Now, why on earth would you take a corner booth if you were going to look _in_ the direction of the corner? That made no sense to me. His hair was a sandy brown. I would have kept up my inspection when Kate's voice interrupted me.  
"Here's your usual, chika. You can sit in your usual—oh, Hey Ollie!"

The sandy-haired man turned, and I was faced with a pair of startling jade eyes.

"What'dya want, Katie?"

"Mind if a friend sits with ya? You're in her spot."

Ollie, as Kate had called him, turned to me. Giving a bright smile, he gestured across from me. "The seat's all yours' if I can ask you a question."

Raising an eyebrow, I indicated he should go on.

"Are you a parking ticket? Cause you've got FINE written all over you!"

I bit my lip to keep from laughing; did he really just say that? "Dunno 'bout being a parkin' ticket; 'fraid they didn't give too many of 'em out down home. Think I'm more like library book—you can take me out once or twice, rifle through, but you'll never truly have me. And in the end, the only thing you have to show for it is some missing money from the fine that's paid."

Kate laughed. "Ollie, you may have met your match with this one! Beth, I'd like you to meet my baby brother Ollie—"

"—Oliver Reynolds, it's a pleasure." He held out his hand for me to shake, and I took it. "Beth Daniels, charmed to meet you."

"Oh you're not charmed yet," he replied with a wink, "But you will be."

"So you're saying you came to Burbank to work in yogurt, which you don't even like?"

"Course not. I'm saying I came to Burbank on a chance—working at a yogurt store wasn't my idea of a good time; I'd rather work for a chocolate company; employee discounts and everything."

I was on my third cup of coffee, splitting a generous piece of chocolate cheesecake with Oliver. I'd been at Kate's maybe an hour, or two, or perhaps I was rounding on number three. I wasn't really sure. I did know that I was in a magnificent mood; much better than when I left the apartment. Because of that damn man. And his damn spy technology. But that was okay—because Oliver was good company.

"Why don't you?"

"What? Work for a chocolate company?  
At his nod, I shrugged. "I like my coworkers. And I dunno how long I'll stay here; it'd be silly to change jobs just to move again. But what about you? You haven't mentioned where you work."

"Well, I'm"

"—Ollie's a bit of a starving artist, without the starving part."

I looked up interestedly. "Really? Do tell."

"Well, I've been painting all through and after college. I came to my sister's so I could paint something exciting; I figured, it's Hollywood—everything exciting happens in Hollywood. Then Kate told me she actually lived in Burbank, and quite frankly, nothing exciting happens in Burbank."

"Now that, Oliver, is something we'll agree to disagree with. You'd be surprised how much excitement there is in Burbank. You just gotta know where to look."

"Oh really? I don't know if I believe you—care to show me sometime?"

Shaking my head, I rolled my eyes. "I already told you, your witty turn-of-phrases will not work on me."

"That doesn't mean I can't try."

"As the greats say, 'try, try again.' …though in this case, I'm not sure how well it will help you."

He laughed. "You can ask Katie, I'm known to be persistent."

"Now that is something I _can_ believe. You probably got it from her. Lord knows I've learned she's 'bout as stubborn as an ole' mule, bless her heart."

Kate guffawed from behind the counter. "Pot callin' the kettle black."

"Least I ain't callin' it gold!"

Oliver looked at me. "What does that even mean?"

I shrugged, and whispered conspiringly. "No idea, but it'll leave her thinking. Now, more about you being a not-so-starving artist?"

He grinned. "See! You _are_ interested in me. As for my artistry bit, I thought I'd see what inspiration hit me here."

"What kind of art's your focus?"

"Well I mainly—"

_"There lives a man who leads a life of danger, to everyone he meets, he stays a stranger,"_

Argh, wonderful. The jerk himself. Oliver looked at me, then my phone, and I sighed. "I'm sorry Oliver, but I have to take this."

I left the table, picking it up once I hit the front door.

"What'dya want?"

If my brisk tone bothered him, he didn't act like it. "Where are you?"

"Why would you want to know?"

"You're needed here."

"Why?"

"Stop pussyfooting around and get your ass back home, Beth."

"You can go…jump in a lake, Casey. Don't get your boxers in a bunch; I just wanted to know. I'll be on my way soon."

"Be on your way _now_."

Oh he did _not_ just order me around. My anger at him from earlier came back full force, and I clenched my fists. I'd love to knock his ass out, I really would.

"I'll be on my way when I damn well wanna be! And I'll thank _you_ not to go barging about in my business and bossing me around. You're not my father, brother, or boyfriend, which means there is _no_ justification in commanding me about like a soldier. Now if you'll excuse me, I've left Oliver waiting, and quite frankly, he's a bit higher up on the list then you are at the moment. I'll be home when I'm home."

Without further ado, I ended the call, not bothering to wait for a reply. I wasn't going to waste my breath speaking with someone who quite obviously was being a jerk. And rude. And just…bitchy. I got back to the table, and I must have had a pretty scary look on my face, because the first thing Oliver asked was, "Who's the bee that's in your bonnet?"

I glared at nothing in particular. "My roommate. I'm gonna have to head off—I'm apparently 'needed'."

"Will you be okay to drive? You look like you'd like to run something over."

"Oh, I'll be fine." As an afterthought, I added, "It's the other drivers you have to worry about. And probably my roommate." I grabbed my purse, and went to pay. Oliver joined me, and when I tried to give Kate the money, pushed my hand away. I tried again with the same reaction.

"Oh, would you just let me pay?"

"Now what kind of a man would I be if I didn't pay for such a pretty lady's meal?"

"Well, you don't have to worry about it; I had snack foods, not a meal."

After handing Kate the money, he turned and grinned at me. "That makes no difference; it's all the same to me."

I shook my head—he was a mystery to me. My phone buzzed again, and I saw a text from Casey telling me to get my butt home. Well, that was putting it politely.

"Boy, your roommate must really want you home—gotta paint her nails or some such nonsense?"

I bit my lip to keep from cracking up. The image of John Casey painting his nails…I wanted to memorize that forever. I let a few chuckles through, and after catching my composure I shook my head. "No, no, nothing like that. My roommate, Casey, he's a guy. Not a girl."

He immediately sobered, and I furrowed my brow. He changed really suddenly. "Oh, I didn't realize you were taken."

"Oh, no! No, no, not like that! We share an apartment because it's cheaper for both of us; we maintain a strictly platonic relationship. Most likely he's calling me because something went wrong with the apartment—the fridge or stove or whatnot. We're not—no, just no."

He brightened considerably, and I had to wonder if this guy was a little too happy about my singleness. I mean, God bless him, but I wasn't lookin' to start a relationship, especially with a civilian. Er, not with a spy either. I was happy being single. Mostly. Well, yeah, I was. I _was _happy being single. And I wasn't trying to convince myself either. I realized I was still standing with Oliver. Shoot. Had to head out.

"Sorry, Oliver, didn't mean to zone out. I've really gotta run—the man'll have a coronary if I'm not there soon."

"Will I see you again?"

He looked hopeful, and I couldn't bear to let him down. I should have told him no; should have made sure he knew he didn't have a chance with me, but I didn't.

"Sure, I'm usually here Wednesdays for a coffee and to catch up with Kate. You're more than welcome to join me for a slice of pie."

His green eyes practically gleamed, and I was struck by how young he must have been. Maybe my earlier calculation was off—surely he was definitely leaning towards the early to mid-twenties. That or he had a naturally boyish face.

"Great! You do realize that gives me more time to charm you, if you've not been charmed already."

I was almost to the door before I turned around, and gave him a sweet smile. "I'll hold you to that—we'll see how well you charm."

And with a parting goodbye to Kate, I headed out towards my truck, ready to face that grumpy bear I call a roommate.

"You're telling me you dragged me away from Kate's to tell me Beckman set us up for a mission _next week._"

He grunted, and I resisted the urge to slap him. Oh but it was tempting. So tempting. I got home from Kate's in order for Casey to tell me that Beckman set up a mission for next week. He could have waited to tell me that when I came home.

"I was having good conversation with friends, a delicious piece of cheesecake, and _you_ interrupted me!"

"Shoulda been home anyway—you're on the clock."

"That's what cell phones are for. And I'm not on the clock—technically, Sarah is. Because she's Chuck's handler. We're just part of the team. And we're the part that does van duty—"

"Or surveillance?"

I snarled. "Don't even _mention_ surveillance to me—I'm still pissed off!"

"Gonna make me?"

I clenched my fist. No, Mom always said it wasn't nice to hit a body. But…I bet she didn't know John Casey. "No, I'm not. Because that's not polite. Do you know what else is not polite? Having to take your phone call in the middle of my conversation with Oliver. And we were just about to"

"—who's Oliver?"

"A friend. Now, as I was saying,"

"—who the hell names their kid Oliver?"

"Same person who names their kid John. Now will you shut up and listen to my story?"

"Who is he?"

"Good God, are-you-a-bro-ken-rec-ord? I'm trying to flippin' tell you!"

He growled but I stood my ground. Like he could scare me. What was he gonna do, eat me? He couldn't kill me—too many people would notice me missing. Couldn't hit me, I'd fight back. Plus, John didn't seem the type to hit a girl. After a while, I really got tired of standing and glaring. It was tiring.

"Well?"

I looked at Casey. "Well what?"

"Who. Is. He."

"Are you going to interrupt me this time?"

He growled, and I took that to be a negative. "Right, so where was I? Oh! My conversation with Oliver. Well, he's an artist, staying with his sister here in Burbank. Kate, you know Kate? Well, you don't know her but I talk about her all the time, so you might as well, well, it's her brother. Oliver Reynolds. Anyway, we were talking about what he was doing in the city—I don't think either of them are actually from Burbank, they speak with a bit of a—"

"Beth."

"What!"

"The point?"

"Oh, well, the point being…considering Oliver introduced himself by using a cheesy pick-up line, he's quite a nice fella."

John growled, and I raised an eyebrow. "Problem, John?"

"You're supposed to be protecting and watching the asset—not flaunting your ass…ets."

I flushed. "Well you'd know all about my 'assets' wouldn't you, Mr. Surveillance Man?"

He smirked. Damn him, he smirked! "It's not funny John!"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before."

I glared at him and marched up to where he was standing. Ignoring the fact he was a good almost foot taller than me, I stood with my hands on my hips, eyes narrowed dangerously. He was about five seconds from testing my red-headed temper, and God help him if he did. "If I didn't know you any better, John Casey, I'd say you were jealous of Oliver. As for my 'assets', well you may have seen many women's goods before, but ya ain't seen _mine_. Leastways not person-to-personlike. And yer' not gonna. I'm not some lil' ole' gal who'll throw herself down for a romp in the hay, spy style. That ain't me. You may have had multiple 'partners' in your career as an NSA Agent and Marine, but this is one partner's who'll you'll not have."

"Wouldn't take a woman unless she was willing, Beth."

"Well, yeah, but, I meant—" I fumbled my words. The quiet reply to our otherwise loud conversation surprised me. Well damn. Now I felt kind of guilty. I didn't mean to insinuate that. No! Don't feel guilty Beth. He was the one who bugged your room. The bathroom. And interrupted your otherwise wonderful visit at Kate's. Don't give in! But I could tell with the sinking feeling in my gut, I was going to apologize. I sighed, and cursed my weakness—I hated it when tensions were high and bad feelings were running amuck.

"Look," I started, right at the same time John spoke, "Listen,"

We both stopped. "John," "Beth,"

Pausing again, I shook my head. I just had to say it fast and first, get it out of the way before he could say anything else. We both spoke again at the same time:

"I'm sorry!" "I'm sorry."

What…? That was unexpected. He…did he…no, I must be hearing things. He couldn't have? Could he? Well, maybe he…I suddenly realized he was giving me an equally confused look as I was giving him. I motioned for him to go first.

"What are you sorry for?"

I shrugged. "For um, well, for snapping at you. I let my temper get the better of me, something Mom always warned me about. And for, well, throwing dough in your face earlier. I was angry and…yeah. Wait…why are you sorry?"

He didn't answer right away, instead he opted to pace the floor. Back and forth, back and forth…okay, I should stop watching—it was making me dizzy. "Shouldn've have bugged your room."

What they hey? Did he just apologize? I…I think I was in shock. Well, oh. What did I say to that? Oh, right. I say it's okay. Er, no…ah, right!

"I forgive you. Next time, a lil' heads up would be nice—I mean, it's a bit of a shock finding out when you spot the camera in a half dazed stupor. Will you take out the cameras later?"

"Already did."

"Oh. When'd you do that?"

"While you were out getting hit on by boys."

"Oh, he was in his early twenties, and –hey! I was not getting hit on. One pick up line, and he said it for kicks."

He grunted, and I rolled my eyes. Men. I'd never understand them. I'd finally sat down in the living room to relax before it was time to cook supper. Not that I was really thinking about food—I ate too much cheesecake. John sat down at the surveillance monitors and I made a mental note to double check for bugs. Not that I didn't trust him. I just didn't want to accidently give anyone a peep show. He was smirking, and I threw an M&M from the bowl on the coffee table at him.

"What're you smirkin' bout?"

"Just missing the view of the mountains in the morning."

My eyes widened; I was pretty positive he was _not_ thinking about the Rockies. Unable to resist, I decided to play coy. Teach him to mess with me.

"Well John, you just keep dreamin', maybe one day you'll get to explore those mountains. Maybe in your dreams at least.

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So what do you guys think of Oliver and Kate? (Well, more Oliver-we don't get a lot of Kate here). And Beth's temper...pretty spitfire, eh? As always, please review-I'll give you virtual cookies. :)


	7. The Scar

So, I've been waiting forever to publish this one-and it's finally here! I wanna thank everyone who's been reading this story and its companion piece, Chuck versus the Chuckless Summer: AJ (and if you didn't know it had a companion piece, go check it out now! Because it's amazing). I hope all you lovely readers had a wonderful New year! To my lovely reviewers-you make writing this story enjoyable. I'm really glad y'all are enjoying Beth as much as I'm enjoying writing her.

This drabble happens a couple days after Bugged or so, just in case anyone was wondering. I'm not writing the disclaimer again...look back to previous chapters if you wanna know who owns what characters and such. Note, there's no Oliver in this chapter, but I promise, we'll see him again soon. :)

Enjoy!  


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I jolted awake, my heart pounding. Fighting for breath, I struggled to calm myself. It was alright; I was safe in my own bed. Really I should have been used to all of it. The waking up covered in sweat, sleepless nights spent wondering what my life would be like if things had happened differently. Maybe this was my punishment for my failure. I was left to live the life of an insomniac.

Looking at the clock, I groaned. One thirty. Didn't even make it to three today. I rolled out of bed and headed to the kitchen. That itching feeling in my hands started again. Soon I'd start to shake and my head would pound. I needed to bake; to have something distract me. Casey had picked up apples earlier, so I decided to make apple cake. I readied the ingredients, my hands steadying while I focused on the practiced rhythms I knew. Measure, pour, chop, sift, stir. Two cups of cut apples. I didn't even need to glance at a recipe; I knew it by heart. I completely immersed myself in the task at hand, and was on my second cake before I knew it.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh!" I dropped the cup of flour I'd been measuring, spilling its contents all over the island. I looked up at Casey, who was staring at me intently, and decided I'd better clean up the flour. As I began wiping up the mess I'd made, I ranted at him.

"Oh, now look what's happened! I needed that flour. What are you doing up this early anyway?"

Ignoring me, he pointed. "What's that?"

I didn't bother looking up as I replied, seeing as I was in the middle of stirring. "An apple cake; what does it look like?"

"Not that." Casey's voice sounded slightly above my ear and I froze as I felt his fingers brush against the scar that ran across my neck. "This."

I flinched subconsciously, and drew a hand up to try and cover my throat to no avail. He had grabbed my hand before it had gotten to my neck. His grip wasn't strong enough to hurt me, but was definitely firm enough to know I wasn't going to get to cover the scar. Closing my eyes, I desperately pleaded with whatever God was up in that sky that this be a dream. But no, I could still feel Casey's hand cupping my neck, his thumb touching the end of the pale pink scar that tarnished my skin.

"Let go of me, Casey. I need to put the cake in the oven."

"No."

No? That was it? "What do you mean no?"

"How'd you get the scar?"

Why can't he just answer a question, instead of dodging it? "It's none of you business. It's just a scar. Will you let me go now?"

"No."

I snapped. Rather than wrenching myself backwards and risk taking Casey with me (his hand was still on my neck), I pushed myself forward and tried to counter his weight so I could free myself. "Damnit, let go of me!"

My plan would have been brilliant, except that in my haste to get away, I never factored in Casey's NSA training and his sheer strength. Instead of catching him off balance, he simple spun so that my back was pressed against the wall. Before he knew what was happening, I slapped him hard as I could against the face. He growled low in his throat, and I absently wondered if that was a number five or six growl. He had let go of my hand after I slapped him, and I started sidestepping away towards the living room. Every step I took back, he took forward, until the back of my knees hit the couch and I stumbled into a sitting position there. I didn't know what would happen next.

"Tell me."

I decided to play dumb. "Tell ya what?"

"The act's not going to work with me, Beth. Tell me how you got the scar."

"Casey, it's none of your concern. Why do you want to know so much?"

"That scar is the reason why we never have any flour in this apartment. You can act as tough as you want, but that scar haunts you."

I was tired and frustrated—all thoughts of playing dumb or acting calm left the mind. "As well as it should! You wanna know about my scar? It's a symbol of my failure. It's the reason I stopped working as a field agent. My whole team was slaughtered, my partner was killed before my eyes, and I wasn't even granted the salvation of dying with them. I had to live on with this scar as my own personal scarlet letter."

I felt the couch sink in as Casey sat next to me. "You didn't kill them."

"I might as well have!" My voice shook. When had I started crying? "I was their leader; they looked to me for guidance and I led them to their deaths! They trusted me. Their deaths were my fault!"

I felt arms wrap around me, and I cried. I cried for Jamie, the best friend who always had known what to do. I cried for Layla, Tyler, and Caleb. I cried more than I ever had. The tear ducts that seemed to stop working at Jamie's funeral suddenly turned on again, and I found myself bawling like a child in the arms of one of NSA's toughest men. He let me stay there, crying it all out. Every once in awhile he'd push a piece of hair back from my face, or rub comforting circles on my back. I couldn't tell you how long I cried. Sometime during my cry fest, Casey had shifted so he was leaning against the arm of the couch, and I was reclining against him, head buried in his shoulder. My sobs finally quieted, and I looked at him.

I gave a watery smile. "I'm sorry—your shirt's soaked. I'm worse than the Nile."

"Better now that you're not in denial."

My eyes widened. "You rhymed!"

He merely grunted. Silence settled over us, both of us lost in our own thoughts. I looked down at my hands. Normally I hated to speak of my past; I kept it buried for a reason. After the initial questioning, I never spoke of what happened that night when I lost my team. But for some reason, something inside me was pulling me to tell Casey.

"It's been a year. Since I got the scar, I mean. We were supposed to infiltrate a suspected terrorist's warehouse, and recover evidence of his crimes. Jamie and I were chosen to lead the team, she was my second. I chose three other agents, comrades who I knew would have my back. We went in alright, but faced firepower about thirty feet from our goal. Jamie was shot in the side and Caleb in the leg. They didn't kill us right away; instead, opting to take us to Ibrahim Arhiheim. He ordered us killed, one by one. They shot Tyler first—it was a quick death, clean to the heart. Layla and Caleb were finished in a similar fashion. I tried to fight back but they had me tied up. Jamie's was worse. They…"

My breath hitched in my throat, and I fought off the onslaught of more tears. I felt sudden warmth and looked down to see Casey grasp hold of my hand. Squeezing it slightly, I continued.

"Jamie's was worse. I'm not sure if they knew she was important to me, but for whatever reason, they decided not to shoot her. They cut her throat. She knew what was coming; she caught my eye, and nodded. I almost got free at that point; I was able to knock an elbow back but the guard reacted by slicing my side. Wasn't a deep cut; left no scar."

Casey growled low in his throat and tightened his arm around my waist. I wondered if he was conscious of what he had just done, or how protective and 'claiming' his actions were. But then, John Casey always knew what he was doing.

"It's alright, it wasn't a bad cut. Not comparatively speaking. They didn't give me another chance to save her—one moment she was alive, the next, the lifeblood was pouring from her neck. I couldn't believe it. The mission was supposed to go on without a hitch; it had never crossed my mind that we wouldn't be successful. My mind shut down—the horrors I saw, they were all real. Y'know, the blood never affected me before, but then, it's different when it's your side dying. The rest was a blur to me. I know Arhiheim said something, and I felt the blade cross my neck. He laughed, and that was the final straw. I pushed back, grabbed the knife. I don't know how I did it, but I made it out. Jamie had sent a call for backup before her death, and they arrived short after. I was in the hospital two days, but besides being a deep cut, nothing else was wrong with me. It was at Jamie's funeral that everything really sank in, and I tried to turn in my resignation."

"Tried?"

"Director Graham wouldn't accept it. Said I'd worked too hard to give up after one mishap. He put me on a desk job for awhile, which was decent. The routine of it all set in, though, and I couldn't take it anymore. I asked for vacation time, which was granted. And then…"

"And then you were assigned to Operation Bartowski."

I nodded. "Yep, which has, so far at least, been good. So…that's it. The story behind my scar. You're the first person whom I've told, besides the authorities who wanted to know what happened."

Suddenly tired, I shifted downwards so I could lay my head on his chest. He didn't let go of me.

I had closed my eyes, but opened them at the sound of his voice. "Why'd she nod? Before she was killed, I mean. What was she saying?"

"She was telling me to keep my promise. Back when we were still in training, we both had talked about future missions, and what would happen. We pledged to each other that no matter what happened, we'd never forget why we took the job. We'd never forget what it meant to serve our country, and even if we died, we did so believing that what we were involved in was the right thing. We had talked about what would happen if one of us died, and I promised her that although I'd never forget, I wouldn't live in a shadow of my former life—because that's no way to live."

Casey didn't say anything, and he didn't need to. I could clearly see what the silence was saying: _Did you keep that promise?_ Thinking over the past year, I knew the answer. I hadn't. I had kept my fears and regrets from letting me cherish and enjoy life. I opened my mouth to speak, but yawned instead. I tried again but was shushed by Casey.

"Stop fighting it. Go to sleep."

"Mm…no. Needa bed."

Although I couldn't see it, I was almost positive Casey was rolling his eyes. I started to stretch, ready to stand up and head to my room when I was swiftly lifted into the air.

"Casey, what d're ya doin?" My words were slurred slightly from my sleep-deprived mumbling.

He grunted. "Getting you to bed."

"Oh." I let myself relax, knowing that I was in safe hands, well arms actually. Sleep was trying to take me, but I managed to stay awake long enough for one last comment.

"Casey?"

"Hm?"

I was vaguely aware of him setting me on my bed and pulling the covers over me. "Thank you for being there, for..." I had more to say, but sleep overtook me.

For the first time since the Arhiheim mission, I slept undisturbed. I didn't even notice when Casey leaned over and planted a soft kiss on my forehead; neither did I notice the deep echoed words spoken in the dark of the night.

"I'll always be there, Beth. Always."  


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So Beth's not as happy-go-lucky as she seems to be. And we've solved the mystery of the missing flour! Now wasn't that ending scene just the sweetest thing ever? 3 I hope you liked this chapter! As always, please review if you have time-to tell me whether you liked it, ya hated it, or whatnot. Cheers!


	8. More Human than Bear

Hi guys! As usual, Chuck's & company = not mine, Beth is mine, AJ is lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts. I feel really honored that y'all have stuck with this story. As a reminder, if you haven't checked out Chuck vs the Chuckless Summer: AJ or Chuck versus the Chuckless summer, Beth & AJ, please do. CvtCS: Beth and AJ has lifeislikeaboxofbertiebott and my's co-op writings-we post them separately because they're in 3rd POV and our stories are both in 1st POV. I hope you take the time to read 'em!

Enjoy!

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"I'm really happy John's found you! He needs someone to iron out his rough edges. You know, Devon and I would love to double date sometime."

I almost spit the popcorn out of my mouth. Looking at Ellie in shock, I stumbled through a reply. "No! I mean, not that I wouldn't love to double date with you and Devon, but John and I…we're not together. We're roommates. He had a place to stay and I needed it. There's nothing there between us."

"But he's protective of you. Anyone can see that he acts differently with you than with others."

"Well…he has to. I mean, I live with him. He can't scare me into quiet with his growls—I know what he wears to bed."

She gave me a knowing glance, and I realized what it sounded like I meant. "No! I don't mean it like that. I mean, well, just that there's another side of John that people don't see. And I do. But not _that _side. Just…" I imagined my face was beet red by now. "I mean that he's more human than bear, more real when he's at home."

"Why aren't you two together?"

I stared at Ellie. Did the woman never give up? "I, um, I…well, we just aren't."

I had a feeling Ellie didn't like my answer. Whether that was because she didn't believe me or because she found it unsatisfactory, I wasn't sure. Though I had my suspicions that it was a bit of both.

"I think you'd make an adorable couple. And John really does need someone. I mean, there's Devon and myself, Sarah and Chuck, then John."

"What about AJ?"

"She's still new in town; I have no doubt she'll find herself a boyfriend soon. And we're not talking about AJ. You'd be perfect for John."

"I…no. A relationship with John would be disastrous! He wouldn't be able to…I'd…" I trailed off, actually thinking about things for a moment. Actually, though I'd be loathe admitting it to Ellie, a relationship with John wouldn't be too bad. I mean, he's gruff and all, and I'm…not but I had a feeling we'd balance each other out. But, no. Because we didn't actually like each other like that. Hell, we hardly liked each other at all! I mean, this _was _the man who threatened bodily harm if I so much as looked twice at replacing his bonsai for a tree with a bit more…color. As if I'd get rid of his bonsai for my African Violets. Please, they could live in perfect harmony. Together. But not _together_. Because that didn't work. It just…wouldn't.

"You have no excuse as to why a relationship wouldn't work."

"No! I, um—I'm not talking about this with you. Ellie, I don't need a man in my life right now, I'm still trying to get my life in order after moving and everything."

Ellie nodded, but I had a feeling she was doing that more to appease me then because she really believed what I was saying. Which was silly. Because I was right.

Right?

Wrong, apparently.

Three or four minutes later, the doorbell announced the arrival of the third of our group of girls. AJ had showed up, _Mad Money_ and Pringles in hand. She plopped down in one the comfy recliners.

"So Beth, you and Casey all over each other yet?"

I coughed, trying to clear my airways. Lemonade down the windpipe is not a good thing. I could feel the heat coming off my face. Well! Not so much as a by-your-leave. What was this, 'Pick-on-Beth day'? I emphatically shook my head.

"Ahem, no AJ, we are not 'all over each other' as you put it."

And yet I could hear my conscious disagree with me as I remembered how he held me not two days ago as I bawled my eyes out. Or how he carried me to bed as if I weighed no more than a feather (and trust me, I was no lightweight—I distinctly remember cursing the scale not two weeks ago because of my chocolate kick) and then tucked me in. But those things didn't mean anything. Well, I didn't think they meant anything. I mean…well hell.

No Beth, now is a bad time to start trying to get attached. You're still healing. Not to mention, it's bad to get attached to a man who'd never choose you. Or who you didn't think would choose you. Ugh.

I looked up to see AJ and Ellie staring back at me. Shit. They must have been talking, and I wasn't listening. I decided it was better to stay quiet than to speak, and after a minute, AJ narrowed her eyes, then nodded to herself.

"You were thinking about him naked, weren't you?"

"Wha—no! Why would I think about him naked?"

"Because he's attractive?" "Because you want in his pants?"

I grabbed a pillow and threw it at AJ, who said the latter comment, but she dodged it.

"AJ, I do _not_ want in John's pants."

"Why not?"

…I had no answer for that. So, rather than making a fool of myself, I switched to Ellie, since I hadn't commented on what she's said yet. "Ellie, he may be attractive, but I can assure you, I wasn't thinking about John naked."

Now that we were on the subject though…no! Damn her. A mental montage of John shirtless that day of the first Bartowski dinner passed through my mind and I struggled to fight it off. Oh, what was the use? John shirtless…I could think of worse things to be going on in my head. As long as shirtless was where it ended. But boy, did the man sure fill out a pair of Levis.

"Who's thinking about whom naked?"

I zoned back in to notice Sarah had finally arrived, her movie and snack of choice being _What Women Want_ and trail mix, respectively.

"Oh, Beth's thinking about Casey naked. Well, she wasn't, but I'm pretty sure she is now."

I glared at AJ, but didn't refute her statement. I couldn't really, seeing as I had at least been thinking about John semi-naked. Sarah was still standing by the door, looking at the rest of us, before finally asking, "What did I miss?"

"Oh, nothing too important. The topic on hand being how long it will take Beth to realize that she has the hots for our boy Casey, and how long it will take them to hook up."

Ellie shook her head. "Not just hook up. Those two would be good together. John needs someone, and anyone can see that Beth would work well with him. They already live together; they're one step ahead of most couples."

I felt the need to interject. "Um, can I just say that I'm still in the room? I think I should have some say in it, as it's me we're talking about."

"True, but you know we're right."

AJ nodded. "Ellie's right. What do you think Sarah?"

All eyes turned towards the blonde, who had settled down on one side of the couch. I was crossing my fingers. Surely of all people here, Sarah could see how John and I wouldn't work. I mean, we were both spies, and spies didn't get involved with their partners. Well, okay, that might not be fact, because I knew of more than one husband/wife couple, but it didn't always work. And none of those couples had Mr. Grizzly Bear as the man in the relationship. C'mon, Sarah, say it won't work. You know that's what you want to say.

"Well, I don't think Beth or Casey should jump into a relationship with each other…"

Yes!

"…until they both have gotten to know each other a bit better. Beth did just move here, she's probably still acclimating. But I don't think a relationship between them would be disastrous."

No! Sarah, you were supposed to be on my side! Damnit. It really is 'Pick-on-Beth' day. Did I have a neon sign that said 'Manhunter' in bright, shiny letters, or was I exuding the aura of a desperate woman? I don't need a man. Don't want a man. Okay…that last statement may be a lie, but in general, I'm good being single. That's it, as much as I hated to, I was gonna have to play dirty.

"Psh, who are you kidding, Sarah? Of course John and I dating would be disastrous. I mean, come on, John doesn't go out on dates; he certainly hasn't had a girlfriend in awhile. He's gruff and stoic and growls more than he talks. What kind of a good time could he show a girl?"

A suggestive eye-raise, covered grin, and wink later had me regretting my ability to not always think before I speak.

"What kind of good time are you looking for, Beth? Is there something you need to tell us?"

"Good question, Ellie, I'll second that! And Casey's growl-not-talk hasn't fazed you yet. You seem to be able to understand his growls more so than anyone else."

I groaned. This wasn't how I planned Plan B on going. I looked to Sarah, the only one who didn't speak.

"What? Don't you have something you wanna say too? I mean, since we're all sharing what we think, you might as well get your kicks in."

She contemplated a moment, and momentarily smirked. Had I blinked, I may have missed it, but I was almost positive that she had a split-second evil grin. "Well, Ellie and AJ raise some pretty good points, so I won't touch on those…"

"…But you're gonna touch on something else, aren't you?"

"Well, in regards to your last statement, I'd just like to point out because Casey hasn't had any girlfriends lately doesn't mean he can't 'show a girl a good time'. From what I've heard, he's pretty skilled in that area."

Oh. _Oh._ Snap. I...um, what do I say to that? I fumbled with my words, and think I finally spit out something akin to, "Oh, um, uh, really?"

And by the looks on their faces, they found this funny. Really funny. Well, I didn't find it funny. Maybe a wry funny, like that 'Shit, I stepped on the bomb and can't help laughing' funny, not the genuine 'that's hilarious' funny. I reached for some mini-crunch bites to throw in my popcorn and mentally prepared myself for the teasing that was to come. It didn't take too long.

"So…he's pretty experienced, huh? Well no worries then, huh Beth? You've got yourself a tiger!"

"He's not a tiger. Doesn't act like a tiger. If anything, he's a bear. And I won't have to worry about that—of this you're completely correct. Because there _won't_ be a relationship because he _doesn't_ like me like that, which means we won't be doing _that._ So whether or not he's skilled or 'blessed' in that area…it doesn't matter to me. Now can we _please_ choose a movie? Or would you like me to start asking the questions? Like…AJ, when are you going to find yourself a boyfriend? I mean, everyone's so focused on my relationship, but I'm not the only single one here."

"Pues que. I'm happily single, thank you. And that's not changing anytime soon."

"That's not fair! How come she can be single but no one wants me to be?"

"Because we're not talking about AJ, we're talking about you. And she doesn't have a man right at her fingertips that would be perfect for her."

I rolled my eyes, knowing no matter how I tried, I wasn't gonna win this argument. "What do you want me to do, then? Just walk through the door and jump his bones or something? Relationships take time; you can't just force them onto somebody. Besides-"

I was fully prepared to continue my rant, but "Secret Agent Man" began playing from the coffee table. I didn't bother looking at the caller ID, I had most of my ringtones set by person. Which meant that there was only one person the call could be from: A certain growly Major whom I happened to live with.

"You rang?"

"Your little pow-wow hasn't ended yet?"

I choked back a laugh. "Nah, not yet—hasn't really begun. How come?"

"Just curious. Don't suppose you'll be back anytime soon?"

"Depends…why do you wanna know?"

"Must you always ask questions?"

"Must you always dodge them?"

A growl was heard from the other end, and I couldn't help the smile that crossed my face. It really was too fun to irritate him sometimes. But I'd probably played the question game long enough for him. "I didn't plan on being back till about midnight or over, but I don't mind leaving early..."

"Hmh."

From his inflection and tone of voice, I took that to be a 'yes'. "You know, if you really needed me…you could have just walked over."

He mumbled something about there being too much estrogen, and I cracked up. Between chuckles, I managed to spit out a reply. "Well, I'd hate for you to drown in the sea of estrogen, I'd never have anyone to annoy then. In any case, I'll grab my stuff and head over, kay?"

An affirmative grunt later, and I was ready to hang up the phone, but John hadn't had his final say yet.

"And Beth?"

"Mm?"

"Don't plan on baking anything else tonight. Make any more, and I'll start selling your goods for profits."

He couldn't see, but I had a feeling he knew I was blushing. "Just because I like to keep busy…"

"By making two or more pans of desserts a night? You crossed that fine line from busy straight to neurotic. We're trying to break that habit, not enforce it."

"Oh, bite me. You enjoy it."

There was a pause, and I realized my 'it' could pertain to two different things. "The desserts, John. You like the desserts."

"Mhm."

I had the distinct feeling desserts weren't on John's mind. Actually, maybe they were, but his 'mhm' certainly didn't sound like he was simply thinking about a chocolate cake. I really didn't wanna know what _was_ on his mind.

I cleared my throat, absently wondering if it was always so hot at Ellie's. "So…I'll see you soon then?"

The conversation ended as it always did—me saying goodbye and see you soon; John growling in response. I tossed the phone in my bag and started gathering my things up to head home. I looked up when one of the gals finally coughed to get my attention.

"And that was…?"

I gave Sarah a bored look. "Oh, you know, Santa Claus. I told him we'd meet for our bi-weekly rendezvous. Who do you think it was?"

"I'm assuming you're jetting off to your buff Buymorian?"

"He's not mine, AJ, but yes, I'm heading home." I turned to Ellie. "Sorry I'm taking off early. Rain check on girls' night?"

Ellie gave me a hug and nodded. "It's alright—it won't be as much fun without you."

I said my goodbyes to the rest and was almost out the door when I replied to her. "Yep, it won't be the same. Because now that I'll be gone, you'll just have to get on AJ's case about her boyfriend, or lack there of."

I dodged out the door before an empty can of Pringles could knock me out. Man, I was the one getting teased all night, and AJ's the one who throws the can? Sometimes things just don't make sense. Like why John wanted me home. Or what his 'mhm' meant. I shouldn't be thinking of these things. Next thing you know, I'll see his man-flesh montage, and although it's mighty pretty, it's the last thing I need to see before I face John.

John. The man was more confusing than heaven knows what. Made my brain beat around like a Tennessee tornado in July. I hadn't realized I'd made it to the front door until I was almost on top of it. Well, damn. No more time to think. Had to walk in, and pray to God I didn't see him and automatically envision him half naked. Which was gonna be harder than it looked. Turning the handle, I swung the door open, and waltzed in.

And tripped on the rug. Man, that could have been a better entrance.

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So, seems like Ellie and AJ are on the Beth/Casey bandwagon. And even Sarah seemed to warm to the idea...but has Beth hopped on that bandwagon? Like it? Hate it? Reviews are chocolate covered carmel fudge sundaes! :)


	9. Beth vs the Cocktail Dress: Part One

Hello dear readers! So, I've been really excited for this chapter-well, chapters, because this piece is so long I'm gonna be posting it in four parts. I'm gonna write the disclaimer again, if you really wanna see it, go back a couple chapters. I am, however, going to reiterate that if you haven't, you should read the companion pieces to this story: Chuck vs the Chuckless Summer: AJ, which follows AC's character AJ, and Chuck vs the CHuckless Summer: Beth and AJ, which holds the co-ops for our stories. I also want to say another **big thank you **to all the readers, old and new alike! A couple of you have been consistent reviewers, and I can't tell you enough how much I appreciate it. Now, I'm sure you didn't click this chapter to read an author's note, so with that said,

Enjoy!

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Don't do it Chuck…Damnit, don't do it! Shit. He did it. I winced as I watched him blunder his way through an apology as he stumbled through the crowd of people heading towards Valerian Yizel. Foolish man. He charges right in and thinks he can just approach one of the world's most deadly assassins, not to mention richest arms trader and weapons aficionado and live to tell the tale? Divert Chuck, divert! Once we get safely back to Castle, I'll kill him. And where was Sarah? Why'd she let him leave her sight! I'll kill her too. I couldn't kill John, he was the bartender. He couldn't see Chuck. But I could. Damnit, slacking on the job! Shit…no. I don't wanna do this. I'm purely a behinds-the-scene girl. _Not _a field agent. But…

If I didn't go get him, he was gonna die. Therefore nullifying my job here. And extinguishing a life. Argh! Beth, man up, woman up! You can do this! I looked down at my jeans and t-shirt. I couldn't walk in looking like this. Fudge. I sighed, knowing there was only one option. I had no other choice. I had to do it, even if it meant going against everything I had promised myself.

I had to get in that damn dress again.

I glanced to the back where I knew I had a bag packed for occasions such as these. I may not be a field agent, but I always come prepared. Maybe I didn't have to do this. I tried to get into contact with Sarah and Casey again, to no avail. Oh monkeys. Fine. I grabbed the bag and shimmied into the hunter green cocktail dress. I hated this dress. No, it wasn't that I hated this dress. The dress hated me.

It's true. From an outsider's opinion, the dress was stunning. Form fitting, the dark green gleamed in the low lights of bars and fancy restaurants alike. It was a halter top, fairly simple in design. But, as Jamie had once put it, the dress was sex on heels. I took her word for it. So the dress, in most situations, was a pretty great. However, it had a flaw: it was cursed.

Practically every evil that had befallen me in life occurred while wearing this dress. I met one of my exes in this dress. I knocked him out with a coke bottle in this dress. I was propositioned to six times, one of them by a woman, on a co-op led by Jamie and myself in our second year of fieldwork…in this dress. Needless to say, the dress and I didn't get along. And here I was, wiggling myself in the super tight dress in the back of a surveillance van. If I weren't so aggravated at having to put the dress on in the first place, I'd be rather impressed at my quick-changing feat. Hell, it beat shimmying out of my prom dress and into jean shorts and a tank top in the back of a jeep while my date and I were headed toward the lake. And _that_ was a feat.

Right, not the time to reminisce. I could do that after Chuck was okay. And I killed him. I grabbed a pocket mirror, quickly applied some makeup, and headed toward the entrance. Getting through in the dress was no big deal; you just had to have confidence. And that I could do. I subtly scanned the crowds, looking for Valerian, Chuck, or Sarah. I didn't spy the latter, but of the two former, I could see lots. Valerian was in the corner, sipping…something, and I could see Chuck about ten paces from him. And he kept approaching. Well, time to do what the government pays me for. No worries, right? Though I had to admit, my heart was pounding.

Chuck got to Valerian before I did. He happened to catch a guest's foot and almost ran into Valerian. Smart going, Chuck. The guy's probably got at least three guns on him, multiple knives, and a quick temper. _Not_ a smart move. He started blundering his way through an apology, and I knew I had to act fast.

Sauntering over, I placed a firm hand on Chuck, pulling him back a bit, while I smiled sweetly at Valerian.

"I'm so very sorry sir, is my brother bothering you? I've been looking everywhere for him—he normally doesn't accompany me to events like these, but I had no date, and Charles was free. But he's not exactly well-versed in these sorts of affairs."

I held my breath. Please, please have fallen for that. He not-so-subtly checked me out, and I thanked my stars I shaved my legs last night. Least I had one thing going for me.

"It's quite alright. Though I'm not sure how you could have been left without a date, unless you could find no man to match your beauty?"

I laughed lightly, pushing Chuck further back until he finally got the hint and retreated. I sidled up to Valerian, quickly checking his body to see if I could see any visible weapons. No sign of any—he hid them well.

"No man to match my beauty but more so my dress, I'm afraid."

"Now that I can believe. Your dress is simply exquisite, though I find it is the woman that wears the dress, not the other way around."

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, and I forced myself to stay relaxed. I looked up at him, waiting for him to continue the conversation. I didn't have to wait long.

"As I was telling my compatriots, there seemed to be no lack of beauty within these walls, but I had yet to find a woman whose outfit truly _fits_ her. They wear beautiful gowns as clothing, but you, you give your dress a life of its own. And that, my dear, is truly refreshing."

"Why thank you, it's always pleasing to hear my outfit is appreciated."

And indeed, with the way he was looking at me, it was quite appreciated. Unnervingly so. I wasn't like other spies; I didn't find seduction a tool—in fact, I rarely had any charm in that area. The only way I charmed was acting the innocent, and that's because I wasn't acting.

"—I'm surprised to see you've shown up here, considering."

Shit. Beth, you need to get your head in the game. Let down your guard, and this guy can kill you, which means you _can not_ zone out. Like you just did. Now, considering what is the question…why was it surprising, considering. When in doubt, fake it.

"I'm a woman of mystery, Mr. Yizel. Though I may look it, I'm not quite the damsel in distress type."

He arched an eyebrow, giving me a scrutinizing look. "How did you know my name?"

Fuck! That slipped out. It wasn't supposed to slip out. Ack, fake it, fake it…oh! Giving what I really hoped was an admiring glance; I placed a hand on his shoulder momentarily. Heh, no guns or knives under this dress shirt…but damn! There _was_ some muscle.

"Oh, I think everyone must know who you are. Your work is known and quite respected. Plus, you're the handsomest man in this room. I asked one of the waiters to verify who you were. You caught my attention from the moment I walked through the door."

He took my hand and placed a kiss on it, staring into my eyes with what I was guessing was supposed to be a 'smoldering' look (sorry, but any man who's named Valerian just doesn't burn my flame).

"Well, that is quite satisfying to hear. May I have the pleasure of learning the name of such a magnificent woman? It's obvious you have very good taste in company, as well as men."

Ugh, arrogant as they come. Then again, most assassins are, really. Or any man who thinks he has the woman hooked is.

"Audrey O'Neil, at your service."

He smirked, and I caught myself holding back a sigh of frustration. He was obviously taking that rather perversely. What a womanizer. I watched him hit on three or four guests, grope half a dozen waitresses, and still have time for a quickie with the chef's assistant in the broom closet. Sometimes, being the surveillance of an operation sucked. For one, I was thoroughly plagued. And rather disgusted. While Valerian had been talking, he ran his hand up and down my back. Ugh, I hope the man washed his hands after hislittle rendezvous.

He kept talking, and I let him lead me toward the dance floor while scanning the room for Chuck and Sarah. By now, I hoped Chuck had found Sarah, and they were able to gather the information we'd be searching for. We were investigating what looked to be some shady business deals going from Valerian Yizel to members of Fulcrum. Chuck was supposed to go in, act calm and cool—the quiet cop to Sarah's nice cop. Find Valerian; place a tracker on him, figure out where he's going and what he's doing—all from a safe distance. The only reason Chuck was even there was to see if he could flash.

Valerian led me through a few dances—and with each dance, his hands dipped lower. I swear to all things good and holy, assassin or no, if the man gropes me, he's dead. I will kill him myself. After a quick-paced foxtrot, I begged off thirst, and we headed to the bar.

Snapping his fingers, he gestured to the bartender. "Two dirty martinis, gin."

The bartender nodded. I happened to glance up just about the time he did—and realized it was John. If he was surprised at seeing me in the bar, in a dress which I was certain he didn't even know existed, then he didn't show it. He didn't show a sign of recognition as he passed us our drinks, even though I desperately wanted some reassurance—a nod, a wink, hell, I'd take an eye roll—to know I wasn't in this alone. But he just passed the drink along.

"Audrey, you mentioned my work is well known. Might I ask for which work am I so well-known?"

At the other end of the bar, John shot a questioning look at me, and I realized he had never heard me called Audrey before. Valerian, too, had a questioning look, but I guessed that had more to do with whether or not I would answer his question. And I would…once I figured out what the hell I was going to say. Right, when in doubt, stall.

I looked around, and lowered my voice. "I'm not sure if this is the best place to say…is there someplace more private we could go?"

I didn't see it coming, really I didn't. Because, if I had, I would have bolted faster than the groom at a shotgun wedding. Before he said anything, Valerian pushed me against the bar, hands in places his hands shouldn't have been, and he kissed me. Not your 'well-hello-I-just-met-you' kiss. More like a 'let's-get-it-on-right-here-why-wait' type of kiss.

I froze momentarily, and forced myself to kiss him back. Vaguely, I heard the sound of a glass bottle being forcefully set on the counter, but I was a little too preoccupied by the hands that were clawing at the front of my dress. When did 'is there someplace more private?' turn into 'Let's just have sex, here, I think'.

Damn womanizer. Damn dress. I mean, come on, the man had to come up for air sometime, right? Thankfully, I didn't have to wait that long. While I was trying to kindly and subtly peel Valerian's hand off of my hip, I heard a clatter, and felt something wet cover my back. I gasped, which was enough distraction for Valerian to pull back slightly. Meanwhile, I figured out what had broken the kiss: alcohol, and lots of it. A tray carrying glasses of wine had apparently been upended and knocked over by a couple bottles of Johnny Walker Black. Which would explain why my dress was saturated. Actually, I had a feeling it would probably never come clean. Which was just as well.

Valerian, who at first looked pretty mad that the kiss ended, now looked furious as he saw what happened to my dress. Actually, I think he was madder than me. He started to snap at the nearest waitress, a lil' petite thing who was being blamed for the accident, but I held up a hand to stop him.

"It's alright, Mr. Yizel; accidents happen." I turned towards the bar, looking for a towel to dry off; what originally covered my back had moved in the fabric around my side to my hip practically. And it was probably going to be uncomfortable. A damp towel appeared in my view, and I looked up to face my rescuer.

It was John. And he was _mad._ Normally, he was a pretty growly person anyway, but his eyes were laced with fury. Why was he mad? I'm guessing it wasn't about the dress. I leaned my head to the side, and he glared. Not at me, but straight at Valerian. Damn. If looks could kill…well, I have to say, if Valerian and John were in a fight, my money's on John, hands down.

I wiped up what I could of the spilt drinks—not that it helped much. I let Valerian help sop up the wine on my back, not by choice, but because that's what 'Audrey' would have done. Beth would have kicked his ass from here to next Tuesday.

If I was gonna get the information out of this mission, I needed to focus. Start thinking like a spy. I'd been too long out—this was the easy part; the hard road I hadn't yet reached. I let Valerian drape his suit jacket over my shoulders.

"A pretty woman such as yourself should not be traipsing about in a sullied dress. Allow me to accompany you upstairs; I have something you could slip into."

I nodded, allowing him to take my waist and lead me through the crowds to the elevator. Though I didn't shoot a parting glance to the bar, I felt eyes upon me, and knew, without a doubt, that John was watching my every move. More so: Valerian's.

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So that was the first part; what'd you think? Valerian's...something, isn't he? Something awful, but something. Feedback is always welcome; in addition, if y'all have any suggestions for things you'd like to see in the writings, let mek now-I have a main outline of where I'm going, but side trips are always welcome. :) Thanks for reading!


	10. Beth vs the Cocktail Dress: Part Two

Hello dear readers! Here's part two of Beth Versus the Cocktail Dress! I don't really have a lot to say, 'cepting that I'll be posting the next parts pretty quickly, I think there's five parts in all. Thanks so much for reading, and I hope you like this next part. :)

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The elevator ride was…eventful. He didn't try to kiss me again, thank the heavens, but he certainly was being 'forward' about what he thought. To the point where, when the bell finally rang for our floor, I practically leapt out of the car. He smirked at my reaction. Sure, go ahead you lecher, think that I'm just excited to be one of your many notches on your belt. Psh, like I'd lower myself to _that_. Literally.

Once in the room, I made the excuse I'd just quickly rinse off and change, then be right out. He offered to help me, but I turned him down, using the 'innocent and embarrassed' card. Once in the bathroom, I turned on the shower and went to grab my phone—

Wait, my phone. Where was my phone? My eyes widened as I realized exactly where my phone was. Still in my jeans pocket, in the surveillance van. Lot of good it does me there. I thought about getting into contact with Sarah or John, but I had no earwig. Boy, Beth, you're on your A-game here, aren't you? I sighed in frustration. Now what was I going to do? I took quick stock of my things—no phone, no communication, no gun. I did have my chopstick knives—the only thing I had going for this outfit, apparently. Well, there was only one way out the room, and to get there, I'd have to go through Valerian. Assassin he was, but I stood a chance if I was able to distract him enough. And with the way his libertine mind worked, I figured I stood a pretty decent chance. After actually rinsing off and changing into the 'nightgown' Valerian gave me (as if you could call the scant scrap of flimsy fabric, clothing), I walked out the door.

He was waiting for me, the lust in his eyes evident as his eyes raked over my body. Ugh, creeper. I smiled softly, and once again wondered why on earth I didn't take Seduction School when I had the chance. Then again, I had a feeling any teacher of that class would probably be a creeper. He kissed me again, and I let him. It was a good cover to do a quick scan of any weapons on his body. His back was smooth, but there was a knife under his dress shirt; I could feel it. Okay, I can fight knives. He started to tug off the little jacket, and I used my elbow to push him backwards, coming up with a quick kick to the groin.

He ran at me, and I didn't have time to duck. Asshole got in a pretty good blow to my right shoulder. Rotating slightly to the left, I delivered a chop to the back of his neck, and reached for my hidden knife. About the same time, he pulled a gun. Fuck.

"Now, now, pet, you don't want to be doing anything to get you into trouble, would you? Why don't we just calm down, you can drop the knife."

My hand was suspended in mid-air; my heart beating fast. This was not a situation I wanted to find myself in. Barrel trained on me from ten feet—I wouldn't be able to fight against that. Now, had he held the gun to my back—I can fight against it. Or from fifty feet. But ten feet? Yeah, I was pretty screwed.

I let the knife drop to the floor, and stood my ground as he walked towards me. It took all my willpower to stand on both feet without shaking. It was stupid of me to think I could really return to field work. What was I thinking? The man was a deadly assassin. And I was foolish enough to think I wouldn't get into trouble.

He stopped in front of me and picked up the knife I dropped, gun trained on me all the while. Examining it, he chuckled.

"This is what you thought to protect yourself with? A clever little defense, to be sure, but against a trained killer? A bit foolish, I think."

He stayed close to me, which kept me on edge. If he'd just shoot me, I'd feel a bit better about the whole situation. But I knew that wasn't how he worked. Well, maybe, but I had a sinking suspicion that he had something special in store for me being the woman who had rejected him. He placed a hand on my cheek, and I snarled. I'll give _you _a clever defense.

"Now, now, none of that, little Audrey. Who sent you? FBI? CIA? Or maybe you're Fulcrum?"

I kept my face stoic, but inwardly, I cheered. I may be dead soon, but I'd get my answers, one way or another. Now my only question—which way to play it?

"Well, you _are_ a brilliant man. When did you first decide I was working for someone?"

"Women do not reject me. You did, and I can only assume it's because you have a husband somewhere, and you'd feel guilty cheating on him." Rolling his eyes, he shook his head at me. "You women with morals never cease to amaze me."

In the back of my head, I heard something John had said about Chuck; he may not be a great spy, but his ability to talk got him out of a couple tough spots. I'd play it like Chuck; I just had to keep him talking. "Contrary to popular belief, you're not as astoundingly handsome as you think. But you're right about one thing—women with morals _are _amazing."

He traced the curve of my neck, and my breath hitched. There was no way I'd be able to fight him off; if I had any hope of surviving, I'd have to fake it till I could fight it. Roughly pushing me back into the wall, he forced his tongue down my throat; his arms already ripping my jacket off. I didn't fight him, partly because I knew it wouldn't do any good, and partly because the man still had the gun. He roughly shoved me, and my hip hit the dresser, causing me to roll my ankle and trip. He dropped partly on top of me, and I willed myself not to scream as his weight painfully pressed down on my ankle. I could take the pain; really, I was okay with everything until he put a knife to my throat.

I started to hyperventilate; my throat closed up, and I started to shake. The memories of last time a knife was at my throat flooded my memory, and I started to get dizzy. In the back of my mind, I knew I had to fight—Valerian's hands were pushing the nightgown up, roving all over my legs, but I couldn't get myself to respond. Everything seemed to happen in slow motion; my body went numb.

* * *

There we go! :) Wonder what's gonna happen to poor Beth? Valerian's not a very nice man, is he? Hope you enjoyed reading it!


	11. Beth vs the Cocktail dress: Part Three

And here's part 3 y'all! As always, I don't own Chuck, but I do own Beth and Valerian; AC owns AJ. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this next part!

* * *

There was a commotion outside the door, but Valerian didn't pay it any mind. I heard two shots, and then the door was blasted open, almost flying off its hinges. Valerian and I both looked over at the same time. With a rifle in his hands and a frown on his face, John Casey looked more menacing than I had ever seen him. Seeing my state of undress, and Valerian partially on top of me with his hands under my nightgown, he snapped into action.

Using the butt of his rifle, he swung it at Valerian; about the same time, I used Valerian's distraction to push the knife away. Valerian hit the wall like a rag doll, and I thought that'd be it. But it wasn't. Casey tossed the gun away, and went after him with his bare hands. Giving him a vicious kick to the side, Casey picked him up, holding Valerian's own knife on his throat. Pressing hard enough to leave a lingering trail of blood, he growled out something unintelligible from my side of the room. After punching him in the gut, Casey dropped Valerian and he slumped unceremoniously on the ground. He started walking my way, pure rage on his face. Though, I had a feeling the rage had more to do with the situation than it being specifically aimed at me. I hoped so, at least.

When he was about halfway across the room, Valerian shakily stood, and started heading towards John. I yelled, and Casey turned just as he struck out with a lapel pin. He barely missed it, and I assumed it must be poisonous, or the man was desperate. Grabbing Valerian's wrist, Casey snapped it effortlessly back, and I knew by the gruesome sound and Valerian's curses, it was most likely broken. The pin dropped, but that didn't stop Casey from continuing to fight him. I'd seen some pretty brutal beatings before, but seeing John the way he was now…I could see why he was one of NSA's best. The man was ruthless. And it wasn't even that he was out of control. Actually, the man was a cold-blooded, methodical fighting machine when he needed to be. He landed a few more blows to Valerian's face and chest, and before Valerian could so much as wave the white flag, Casey had his Sig pointed straight at the man's chest.

For a split second, I thought for sure he'd pull the trigger. I'd never, ever seen him so fierce. And I hoped I never did again, because, quite frankly, it was a bit frightening. I saw his trigger finger twitch, and knew that if the shot rang out, our mission would be a failure. And as much as I hated the guy, his death shouldn't be our responsibility—he wasn't worth it.

"John…" I hated how meek I sounded, but a combination of the pain and my panic had reduced my voice to a mere whisper. He glanced over, and I subtly shook my head.

"Please." His face softened slightly, and I sighed in relief as he holstered the gun. He cuffed Valerian, and a few minutes later, the assassin was carted out by some of our men. As quick as they showed up, they left again, no doubt carrying him to an undisclosed location somewhere in the middle of the desert. Which left John and myself n the room. I was still on the floor, with no intentions of moving anytime soon. Even if I tried, I was pretty sure my legs wouldn't hold me.

John made his way across the room to where I ended up near the dresser. He knelt down next to me, and I tried to cover myself as best I could. However, there wasn't a lot of fabric to work with. I could feel him staring at me, but I couldn't muster myself to raise my eyes. I was a failure. I had jeopardized the mission because of my incompetence. They might as well chuck me now; an ill-equipped spy is a worthless spy. And I was pretty high on the worthless list after that little bout.

"Look at me."

I bit my lip, knowing he was probably going to be pissed, but I couldn't. I just _couldn't._ My eyes stayed resolutely pointed toward a small speck on the beige carpet. Somebody really needed to clean that; it was distracting. I heard some shuffling, and saw John's shadow move away. A couple minutes went by and I more so felt than saw John return from…wherever he went. He asked again for me to look at him, and I refused, again.

That was, until he grabbed my chin between his thumb and forefinger, and gently but forcefully tilted my chin upwards so I was staring face-to-face with him. The look in his eyes; the combination of concern, anger, and things I couldn't even name…they'd be the death of me. I couldn't help it; I felt my lower lip start to quiver. No, I wouldn't. I _couldn't _cry. There was nothing to cry over. Angrily, I blinked my eyes and started tugging on the hem of the nightgown again, in an effort to conceal my modesty and just as something to do.

He sighed, and I closed my eyes. See? Even he knew I was a failure. He was probably sighing because he was stuck grabbing me and having to play hero. Hell, he'd probably have rather shoot me than Valerian; or shot us both, and saved him the trouble of paperwork. Because he hated paperwork. He held out a hand wordlessly, and I had no choice to accept it—there was no way I could get off the floor without help. I stumbled a bit, and he steadied me with a hand on my waist. He helped me to the bed, and I sat down gingerly.

He gave a terse "Wait here" and I was left wondering just where he had disappeared to. Again. But he was back not ten minutes later carrying a bundle of clothes. He gestured to the clothes, and I nodded mutely. So…he got me new clothes to wear. That was considerate of him, seeing as I couldn't even make a napkin with the thing I was wearing, and my dress was completely ruined. He moved away from the bed, and I wondered if he wanted me to change there. Because…no way was that happening. At the same time, I couldn't walk to the bathroom alone—my ankle was pretty temperamental.

"John…um, I can't walk to the bathroom. Would you mind, um, turning around? Not that I don't trust you, I mean, you're not a creep, but I'd feel a bit more comfortable if you could. Er, would."

I forced myself to stop rambling, and looked at John. He turned around without a word, and I began to wonder if he was that mad at me. I mean, I'd screwed up, but you'd think he'd speak, if that be the case.

I began to put on the clothes he brought for me. They were obviously men's, and I had a feeling they'd hang off my body—a black pair of sweatpants and an equally black t-shirt. Quickly stripping off the offending nightgown, I maneuvered into the shirt easily enough; I only had a bit of difficulty slipping my right arm into the sleeve without bending the shoulder too much. The pants, however, were going to be a lot tougher. The pain in my hip wouldn't allow me to bend over too far, and my injured ankle wouldn't let me stand.

Now, I may not be a rocket scientist, but there were only so many ways you could put on a pair of pants. I was either going to have to rock the 'girl's-got-a-boyfriend' look (something Jamie had coined, because it seemed like, whenever one of our friends had a boyfriend, all other pajamas went by the wayside; they relied solely on their boyfriend's shirts) or I was going to have to ask for help. As tempting as not asking was, I knew that he'd eventually ask why I had no pants on, so facing him sooner, rather than later was probably smart.

"Um…" I paused, not really sure how to voice my predicament. By that time, John had turned around, and by the look on his face, I had a feeling he wasn't expecting me to be only shirt-clad. The look disappeared quickly as it had come, and I was left trying to spit out what I was trying to ask.

"I was, um, wondering if you could…help me? I can't stand, and I can't bend, and there's only so many ways to put on a pair of pants, you know? And so, I'm kinda stuck. Well, not literally. And I wouldn't even worry about it, but it's a little chilly outside. Well, not too chilly, but I don't usually go walking around without pants on. And by not usually, I mean never. Well, there was that one time down home, but it was on a dare, so it doesn't count. And…"

While I was talking, he'd walked over and grabbed the pants. He looked down at my feet, and grunted.

"Did you fight in those heels?" He sounded amused.

I shrugged my shoulders. "Those are nothing. Compared to my five inch boots, those are cake. Had I thought of it sooner, I'd have used them as a weapon."

"Probably the reason you sprained your ankle."

Whoa, how'd he know I sprained my ankle? He wasn't there to see it! While I sat and tried to figure out just how John could have managed to guess my injury, he began unbuckling my high heels. I was cool with that—the shoes had to go. When he reached to take the first one off my foot, his fingers brushed the arch of my foot, and I jerked back with a covered giggle. He tried again, with the same result. I couldn't help it; my feet were ticklish. Between giggles, I apologized. "Sorry, my feet are pretty ticklish. Which is weird, but hey, I can't help that."

He nodded, and I thought that'd be the end of it. He maneuvered both shoes off without touching my foot again, and I figured I was in the clear. Until he ran his fingers up and down the bottom of my uninjured foot. I flailed my leg to the right in an effort to stop him, but didn't really get away. He looked up at me, and my laughter died away as I realized the intimacy of the situation. Me on a bed…him taking my shoes off…myself in a state of undress. I flushed, and groaned inwardly when I realized he'd have definitely noticed my blush. Right, what were we doing? Putting my pants on, always a good thing!

We must have been on the same thought, because John had grabbed the pants and started sliding my first foot in the leg. See? I wasn't freaking out too much; it was just a simple thing that I needed help with. Not sexual or intimate in any way. He left my hurt foot to do last, and carefully maneuvered my foot in the leg of the pants. Once done, he held out a hand for me, and I looked at it confused. Without waiting for me to decide, he pulled me up and, kneeling in front of me, placed my hands on his shoulders.

"Put your weight on your good foot, and use my shoulders to balance yourself."

I did as he instructed, and as I stood there, he pulled my pants up. Which, in itself, was completely fine, but I couldn't help but notice the trail his fingers made up my legs and over my hips, or how painstakingly long it took. He finished, but I still felt like he was there. My legs felt on fire, and I wasn't completely sure if it was because of my injuries, or if it was John's influence. I still had my hands on his shoulders, and he was still close to me. We moved toward a counter, and I shifted my arms to leaning against the counter.

"Thank you."

John nodded, and I assumed he was back to the silent treatment, but two seconds later, he spoke. "Walker and Bartowski are back at Castle. They gained the info shortly after your unexpected appearance. On the drive home, I'll call Beckman; she'll expect a full report tomorrow."

"Why not tonight?"

For once, he gave me a look that was neither angry nor unreadable—it was incredulous. "You were injured, molested, and almost raped on the first mission you've been on since your past partner was killed with you watching, and you want to give a report? No, I won't allow it. We're going home."

He left no room for argument, and soon we were out of the building and on the highway driving back home. The car ride was silent, but I had a feeling it wasn't the last I heard of what John thought about the mission tonight. We still had about a half an hour's drive until we got back to the apartment, and I closed my eyes, hoping to get a couple minutes sleep. Breathing deeply, I snuggled further into the big t-shirt. The shirt smelled good. Clean, but with a touch of manliness that comes from occupying time in a man's closet or dresser. Vaguely, I realized that the shirt and pants must have been John's. How else would he have gotten the clothes so quickly? Plus, they were black. Head drooping, I was lulled to sleep by the sounds of Bob Dylan singing on the radio, and the smell of John's shirt comforting me until the impending conversation I was sure to have with John when we got home.

* * *

There we are! So, Casey comes in kicking butt; who doesn't love that? Lemme know what you thought. :)


	12. Beth vs the Cocktail Dress: Part Four

We've reached it-the last part of Beth versus the Cocktail Dress! Thank you for reading and reviewing, dear awesomely faithful readers! Let's see, I don't own Chuck & company; I do own Beth. That's about it-

Enjoy!

* * *

"Babe, we're home."

"Mm?" I stretched my legs out, and realized I was lying on the couch. When did that happen? Blearily, I blinked away the funny dreams I had during the car ride. I know it featured John and me, and I couldn't find my dress. But I was wearing John's shirt—I wasn't naked. But I had no pants. It was a weird dream. And yet not altogether unpleasant. Wait! Did he just call me babe? No, couldn't have been—must have been the dream. Right? I mean, babe is a term used by Awesome for Ellie. Not even Chuck and Sarah use 'babe'. Of course, their relationship was pretty weird anyway; they probably weren't the best examples. Wait, why was I focusing on their relationship? What was I even doing? Right, going back to sleep. Man, I was out of it.

"Sit up."

I mumbled something, and snuggled back onto the couch. It was comfy. And I was warm. I closed my eyes to go back to sleep, but felt an arm reach to tug me into a sitting position. Giving a half-hearted growl, I moaned. "Mm…Lemme go back to sleep." Laughter in his voice, he continued tugging until I was mostly sitting up. "You've been sleeping for a couple hours, Rip Van Winkle."

I glared at him, but it didn't have much effect on him, seeing as I was still half asleep and not exactly in best glare-mode. "Well…I needed sleep. So there."

"What you need is for your ankle to be iced and wrapped, your hip looked at, and your shoulder treated."

I started to argue back, but the man was right. I had no reply to shoot at him, so I just nodded. "Alright Major, where do ya want me? Bedroom, bathroom, or kitchen?"

It was one of those moments where, had I been alone, I would have cursed. About two seconds after I spoke, I realized how incredibly awkward and…just wrong that sentence sounded. Okay, had to try and fix the situation.

"I mean, for my injuries. Because the kitchen is big, but all the medicine is in the bathroom, which also has water. But the kitchen has the ice. And a bedroom's still big, but closer to the bathroom so if you needed more first aid stuff, you could grab it. And, well, you know. It's a lot about personal preference. I'm alright with wherever you choose."

By the end of my spiel, I was beet red and blushing. In my defense, Iwas tired, so my word-filter was probably on silent. From the look John had given me, I wasn't sure exactly what he was thinking, and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. I started nervously playing with the hem of my shirt. It was too quiet. Why wasn't he saying anything?

"Um, John?"

He snapped out of his stupor-like reverie, and nodded towards the back. "Bathroom's fine."

I nodded, and started to pull myself up. With John helping me, I managed to hobble to the bathroom and sat on the edge of the tub. He started to examine my ankle first, pressing this way and that way, finally deciding to wrap it. Neither of us spoke. The silence wasn't awkward, but it was strained. Something was bothering him, I could tell. He finished with my foot and wordlessly moved to my shoulder. He growled under his breath, and I bit my lip.

He was mad. I knew it. It was all my fault. My fault I was injured, and that he had to go and rescue me. My fault the mission almost failed. It would have served me right had Valerian done something to me. I mean, I was asking for it, flirting with disaster. My stupid self for not grabbing a gun. Or an earwig. Or at least a freakin' cell phone. I bit my lip. The silence seemed to grow. Was it just me, or was the room getting hotter? I shifted, trying to get comfy.

John had left to go grab a couple ice packs, and I switched to sitting on the floor. My leg felt shaky enough, I felt sick. I couldn't get comfy. Now that the shock and adrenaline wore off, I could feel every injury as if it were fresh. Granted, it wasn't the worst I'd been beat up. But the thought of what could have happened had seriously shaken me. John returned, but still didn't speak. Soon enough, John had me holding the ice pack to my shoulder while he started to lift the hem of my shirt. I shifted to the right, away from his hands, and he growled. I don't know what happened, but I snapped.

"Look, I'm sorry! I know it's not your idea of a good time to be babying an incompetent spy who wasn't even smart enough to bring a gun with her. Or a cell phone. Because I made rookie mistakes. I might as well be chucked out, put back on a plane and sent home. Or better yet, sent back to basic. Or to a desk job, because that's what I can do somewhat decently and I know you're mad at me. You think I'm pretty worthless, and I'd agree. I know I got what I deserved. Hell, maybe it would have been just as well that Valerian raped me and left me for dead like the other women he uses and abuses. Because it would have served me right."

I cut off abruptly when, faster than I had thought the man could move, John shut the door, locked it, and reappeared right in front of me, his face the picture of fury. In a dangerously low voice, he finally spoke.

"I _never_ want to hear you utter that bullshit again."

My eyes widened, and I could only stare as he stood to his full height and started pacing the bathroom. He growled every once and awhile, and I was worried he'd pace a hole in the floor. Or breathe fire. He stopped suddenly, facing the door, and I saw that his hands were clenched.

"John?"

He flexed his hands again, and I started to get worried. If it were anyone else, I'd say he was fighting for control. But that couldn't be the case; John was always in control. I couldn't see his face, but his posture indicated he was thinking of something. The silence was going to suffocate me.

"Please, just say _something_."

He turned and stalked toward me, kneeling so he was eye level. He placed his hands on either side of my shoulders, effectively trapping me.

"What do you want to hear, Beth? About how foolish it was to march in, unprepared? Because it was a damn thoughtless plan. Especially when you didn't consult Walker or myself. You just marched in, no regard for how your team would react. Would you rather hear about how worried Bartowski was when he said he lost track of you?"

I frowned. I hadn't thought Chuck would be worried. I shook my head, and John continued.

"No? Then maybe you'd prefer to hear _my_ surprise when you walked up to the bar with Yizel latched onto you like a dog to a piece of meat. How he ran his hands all over your body like you were his whore."

His tone got progressively darker as he continued. "He molested you."

"But…"

He turned towards me, sarcasm and fury lacing his words. "Oh, sorry, did you _like_ having some European sleazebag assault you? I saw it in your eyes; you didn't want him touching you. Didn't want him shoving his tongue down your throat, and you sure as hell didn't want his hands all over your body as he tried to rape you. When I think of what he did…"

He trailed off, a murderous gleam in his eye. I didn't know what to say. So I sat there while he glared into the air. Again. Maybe he needed to shoot something? I felt pretty…chastised, I would say. I felt like an idiot. There I went, ranting to be the dickens, and didn't even think about the others. And he was right; I _didn't_ want that to happen. There was a reason none of my boyfriends ever lasted too long. They were always handsy. And I wasn't the type of girl who'd climb into the back of any old pickup truck.

I'd never seen him so worked up before. I mean, he had reason to be angry; I endangered the mission. But he wasn't just worked up. He was…well, it was scary. This was a side of John Casey I'd never seen before; the side that caused others to cower in fear. A man who would protect his team and his mission, who would shoot first and ask questions later. And who was currently pacing the bathroom like a caged bear.

"John…?"

He turned, and I collected my words. What did I want to say? I didn't really know-I only wanted him to stop pacing. He kept staring, and I felt a little bad. Because I really just wanted him to stop pacing. It was giving me a complex.

"I…I'm sorry."

He raked a hand through his hair. "Stop. Apologizing."

"I'm—" I realized I was about to apologize. Again. Clapping my hand over my mouth, I tried to figure out something else to say. But I couldn't. I didn't know what to say.

John's voice saved me from having to figure out what to say. "The only thing you're at fault for is jumping in before thinking. _Nothing else_. Now quit blaming yourself and let me see your hip."

He didn't give me a chance to reply, and started tugging on my shirt again. This time, instead of snapping, I let him pull my (well, his really) shirt up and scoot the pants down slightly so he could see the damage done. An ugly purplish bruise was already appearing—no doubt it'd be a lovely array of colors before it was all done with. It must have been cut open when I fell—not a deep cut, but enough to leave a trail of blood down my leg. He started poking and prodding the wound, and I jumped.

"Hey! That's a fresh wound."

"Exactly. You'll need some ice on it."

I shook my head. "Ice is cold, though. It'll be alright."

He sighed, this time a sign of clear exasperation. "Don't question me."

I stuck my tongue out at him. Childish? Maybe, but…it made me feel better. After carefully wiping away the blood and putting a band-aid over the wound, he set some ice next to me, and gave me a look that said I'd best do as he wanted. He checked over the rest of my injuries—a couple of small scratches here and there, and pronounced me free.

I watched him put the first aid away, mainly because I had a feeling he'd go a little ballistic if I tried to dodge past him on my injured leg. And partly because…I didn't want to leave his company. I know, that's so juvenile, but John made me feel safe. And I didn't want to leave that safety and go into the dark of my own room, where I would lay in bed and think about what happened. It'd be like the Jamie nightmares over again. And I didn't think I could handle that.

Beth."

"Mm?" I looked up, and realized John had finished putting things away. Actually, by the slight smirk on his face, he'd been done for awhile. And I had been sitting there. Staring. Shit, staring at him, apparently.

"You've had a long day—bed."

I rolled my eyes, but held out my hand for him to help me up. "Yeah yeah, Papa Bear. Good night's rest and all that jazz."

He grunted, something between amusement and exasperation. He seemed to be doing a lot of that tonight. We made slow progress to my room—I couldn't walk faster than a snail, it seemed like. And John felt that way too, by the way he kept tugging on my arm. He didn't do it purposefully—he naturally walked fast, and I, well, couldn't. After getting about a third of the way to my room, I felt my legs leave from under me as John effortlessly picked me up, and started heading to my room. Well, that was unexpected.

"Was that really necessary?"

"Had we waited for you to get there, it would've been next year."

"Hmph, bite me."

I gasped when I felt John's lips press against the left side of my neck and lightly bite. I didn't mean it literally. But apparently, John didn't know that. My face felt hot; actually, was it just me, or was it really hot in the apartment? Why'd he…did he just…no, there was no denying it. He bit my neck—as we walked to my room, the cold air chilled where his lips was, making it pretty damn evident that the man bit my neck. But why? I…well…damn. I didn't even know what to say to that. Should I say something? But, we were almost to my room—I probably missed my chance. Bringing it up now would seem like I was dwelling on it. And I wasn't. Well, technically I was. But not dwelling on it like I want it to happen again. Dwelling on it like I wanted to know why he did what he did.

"Had I known it'd shut you up, I'd have bitten you sooner."

I turned to John, a little shocked to see we weren't even a foot apart. Well duh Beth, that's what happens when you're in a guy's arms. His tone was completely serious, but there was laughter in his eyes. The man was joking. Mostly. Well, I think he was joking. Maybe I needed to get to bed soon; I wasn't sure what was what anymore.

"What?"

I looked at him confused. "Pardon, not what. And…what?"

"You were mumbling."

"I was not."

"You were. Something about joking."

"Oh. I didn't know I was mumbling."

He scoffed, and set me down. "Obviously."

I didn't grace him with a reply, and instead looked around. When did we get to my room? Without asking, or seeing if I needed help, John started pulling down the covers and settling me in. I had turned to set my alarm, and when I turned back around, John was standing half-turned to the window with his arm outstretched.

"Um, John? What are you doing?"

"Your pants."

"Huh? What about them?"

As if talking to a child, he enunciated each word. "Give. Me. Your. Pants."

I was starting to get really confused. Because, well, what did he want my pants for? Granted, they were actually his pants, but still, I was wearing them.

"But, I'm wearing them….why do you want my pants?"

"You don't sleep in pants. You always lay them over your dresser and grab them before you leave your room in the morning."

My mouth opened in shock. How'd he know that? "But, I…well…" I sputtered around for an answer. Damn him, he was _smirking_. Finally, I managed to spit out a, "How…?"

"I said you grabbed them when you woke up in the morning. However, you don't when you wake up to grab a midnight snack."

"But…I…what are _you_ doing up in the wee hours of the morning when I'm up?"

"Are you going to take off your pants or not?"

"Well…that's a little difficult…remember the whole can't bend at the waist? Yeah, that's still in effect."

"So you're going to sleep in them?"

"Well, no…" I planned on you jumping to conclusions and helping. But you're not yet. Darn you, John Casey. As if he were a mind reader, he replied with, "Ask."

Ask? Really, do I have to? Well…sighing, I braced myself for the most awkward sounding sentence I had spoken in awhile.

"John…will you help me…take off my pants?"

Smirking, he nodded. "See? That wasn't so hard, was it?"

After helping take off my pants (don't think about it like _that_, Beth, he doesn't think of you that way), he headed towards the door. He was leaving already? My stomach dropped a bit. He would go to his room, and I'd be in mine. Alone. With the thoughts of the mission today, and what happened, and what almost happened running around in my head. I'd probably be up baking in an hour or two at most. Which was going to be hard if I couldn't walk. Or put on pants. Course, from what John had said, he'd already seen me without pants. But that was another thought for another…oh Lord. I hope he saw me on a good undies day. Please, please, Lord, let he have seen the nice underwear—and _not_ the raggedy ones. Or the ones that had three cherries and a 'Jackpot' sign with a dollar sign medal hanging in the back. Please please please…

"Goodnight Beth."

Oh. But…John's words flashed back to me. 'Ask.' Well, damn. He wasn't one to be a mind reader. I was gonna have to take some initiative.

"Um, John?"

He inclined his head toward me, and I took it as a sign to continue. "Um, would you, err, could you…stay? I mean, just for a little bit. Until I fall asleep, maybe? I don't…I don't wanna be alone right now. Not after…what almost happened with Valerian. If you weren't there…you kept me safe. And I know there's no way you'd let anything happen to me, especially under your own roof, but I'd still…"

"Beth."

He walked over to the 'man spot' (also known as the empty space next to where the main female occupant sleeps—I coined the term sometime in high school, and it stuck) and, after taking off his boots, sat down next to me. I watched him for a moment as he took note of his surroundings—he rifled through the magazines on my nightstand until he finally picked up National Geographic and started to read it.

"You should sleep."

"Oh!" How did he do that? Be completely immersed in something and still know what I was doing? Crazy man. I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me.

"You're right. Could you, um…I can't reach the light. I'm kinda comfy, and don't wanna move. Would you turn it off?"

Leaning over me, he flipped off the lamp and the room dimmed. The only light came from the small reading lamp on the other side of the bed. But that wouldn't bother me. I could sleep in the daylight if I had to.

"Thank you."

He grunted in reply, and started reading again until, "John?"

"Mm."

"Um, thank you. For staying with me."

"…You're welcome."

Ten minutes or more passed by, but I couldn't sleep. It wasn't that I wasn't comfortable—I was quite comfy. But, something was nagging me.

"John?"

An annoyed grunt answered me. Whoops. Must be a good article. Well, I'd make it quick.

"I was just wondering…do you happen to remember what pair of underwear I was wearing when you saw me…without my pants?"

He glanced at me, but didn't answer. I swear though, he smirked! Oh gosh, what pair could it have been?

"I'm just curious. It wasn't the…candy striped pair, was it? Oh no…they weren't my Christmas 'Deck the Halls' ones, were they? Or…"

"—Goodnight Beth."

"But…"

"_Goodnight_."

I huffed, shifting for a cold spot on the pillow. "Sweet dreams, John."

A couple more minutes passed when I felt a hand brush away the bangs from my face. "John…?"

He shushed me, and I closed my eyes. Until he spoke.

"Beth…for future reference, I find the irony of a pair of underwear that reads 'The Baker's Best Eggs and Buns in town' rather humorous."

I buried my head into the pillow. It was _that pair_? Cursing under my breath, I reached an arm out and blindly struck at John, huffing when the only thing it did was cause him to laugh. Damn underwear and their funny phrases.

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Love it, hate it? Either way, I love to hear from ya! :)


	13. Value of the Cell Phone

Hello dear readers, so I've finally moved on from Beth versus the Cocktail Dress-I hope you enjoyed it! This next chapter occurs a couple days later, just so you havea time reference. It's another more BC-centric piece, but I promise, the next chapter will have the whole gang in it. :) By now, you should know I don't own anything except Beth. Thank you for all the lovely reviews, I appreciate them! So, here's this next bit,

Enjoy!  


* * *

I walked through the front door, rolling my shoulders as I went. Ugh, note to self: sleeping in the back of a truck, even if there's a cover, does not make for good sleeping conditions. After John's and my's argument, I had to get out of the house. I understood he was protective, but he was being _way_ too protective about me hopping back to active duty on missions. So I'd gotten the heck outta there—I just kept driving. I ended up driving until I spotted an empty parking lot near a lil' campground. I walked in the woods until I cooled off, then ended up being so tired I fell 'sleep in the back of my truck. Which is why I was coming home at 5:37 in the am.

I _had_ slept some, so I figured coffee was a good start to the day. I was so focused on the coffee that I didn't realize John was sitting at the kitchen table; I almost gave myself a coronary. I jumped back, letting out a rather pathetic squeal in the process.

"John! Good God, what the heck were you doing? Just tryin' to scare someone?"

He looked up, and I started slowly backing out of the kitchen. Hells bells, he looked _mad_. His hair was unkempt; actually, he looked as if he hadn't had a wink of sleep. I noticed he had my cell phone sitting on the table in front of him. This wasn't going to end well. I took another step toward the living room, but stopped when he spoke.

"Take another step, Beth, and you're going to find out exactly _why_ enemies never ran from me. Sit _down._"

"Um, actually, I've been sitting for awhile, standing's a lil—right, I'm gonna sit, sitting is good."

Testing him at this point wouldn't be a smart thing. I fiddled with the tablecloth; I couldn't meet his eyes—I'm pretty sure if humans breathed fire, I'd be barbequed. Maybe since I'm here he's calmed down some?"

"Where the hell were you?"

Or not. His tone was furious. It was a tone I'd heard him use one before—in the bathroom after the Valerian incident, after I'd rambled that I deserved to get raped and he'd slammed the door and told me he never wanted to hear me utter that bullshit again (his words, not mine). Answering would probably be a good idea. I wouldn't put it past him to play the role of disciplinary parent at this point. Actually, that's kind of how I felt—like I was being sat down and told I had done something wrong.

"Um, well, I went…out."

"_Where?_"

"After we argued, I drove until I'd calmed down…I ended up at a campground, I walked until I cleared my head."

His placed his hands on the table, palms down, as if he were putting all his bad energy into the table. I honestly don't think that'd help, but whatever floated his boat. He wasn't gonna hear me say anything, at least, not when he was like this.

"Took a long time to clear you head did it?"

I sighed. Really? What was his problem? "No, I ended up walking a lot, though, and fell asleep in the back of the truck. Look, I don't really see why this is such a big deal—"

"Not a big deal? Dammit Beth, you were missing for ten hours! Ellie and Devon hadn't seen you; Walker said last she knew, you were headed to Kate's. Kate said you'd left her place about seven. Abbott and Grimes were no help—neither knew you were missing. Bartowski only—"He paused from his outburst as if suddenly realizing something. Voice dangerously low, he growled out, "_You slept in the back of your truck?_"

Shit. Um, that was a problem? Maybe I could lie? Yeah, it was either lie or die, I had a feeling. "Um, did I say that? What I meant was—"

"—don't try to backtrack Beth. What the _hell _were you thinking!"

"I was…thinking I was tired? And needed sleep?" The statement came out as more of a question. I wasn't actually sure of my answers anymore. I mean, logic told me I couldn't drive without sleep, so I slept. Though, what John said about the others—I hadn't realized he'd let the whole brigade know I'd up and left—it's not like it was dangerous. I was completely fine. After hearing my answer, John rubbed his temples. His muscles kept tensing up. In any other situation, I'd have taken time to savor the view, but I figured that was a lil' suicidal at the moment. Abruptly, he commanded, "Go. Take a shower, get cleaned up. But this conversation is _not_ over."

"But, you look like you haven't gotten cleaned up either, maybe, don't you want to—"

"_Go_."

Someone odd was in his voice. I didn't know what it was; I mean, I couldn't really pinpoint it, but something was different. I quietly exited the kitchen, heading to grab some clothes before showering. Some days, I couldn't understand John Casey. I showered quickly, even though there was no hurry—I didn't have to work at Orange Orange until the afternoon. Oh shit. I muttered curses as I realized I'd forgotten to grab a shirt with the rest of my clothes. Oh well, John should have been to work by now; I'd just sneak to my room and grab somethin' to throw on.

I hope he didn't worry the others—and what was his problem about me sleeping in the back of my truck? I was perfectly safe, had my gun with me, and it's not as if I fell deep in sleep—I mean, how comfy did he think the back of my truck was? I'd like to challenge him to sleep in the back of that thing, see if he thought it was as easy as it sounded. Gah, my shoulder—really, sleeping in Duke's bed wasn't that great. I stretched my arms while en route to my room. Mm, God that felt good. I wonder if I could still…at one point and time, I was able to bend over backwards and touch the floor—courtesy of one summer of gymnastics and my double-jointedness…yes! I still could. Could I still do a front flip? Hmm…well, what the heck, not like anyone was in the house to see if I failed. I took a slight running start and managed to do a pretty decent flip. Granted, posture was shaky, but I stayed on my feet! I stood up, stretching my arms some. Take that, Olympics team—I was just as—

"Holy hell!"

I froze mid-stretch. Sitting on my bed was John. Oh fudge. "You're, but work? And, ah shit, my boobs!"

Great Beth, that was just great. What kind of a sentence was that anyway? Plus, I really don't think you had to mention your boobs—John's sure to have noticed them. Oh yeah, he noticed them if his smirk is any indication. I shook my head—crap. Why was I still just standing there? C'mon body, move. I crossed my arms over my chest, then realized that really wasn't helping the situation. If anything, it just gave him decent flash of my cleavage. Shit. Where was my shirt? I moved my hands to cover my stomach—I didn't really want him to see what a diet of desserts and not as much exercise created. I wasn't big by any means, but my stomach certainly wasn't toned. I looked around for my shirt, and realized it was sitting on the end of my bed. Next to John. Grr…hello, fail. Meet epic.

"Um, John?"

"Mm?"

"Can you, um, pass me my shirt?"

"Got legs, don't you?"

Grr, he was doing this on purpose, I was sure of it. I sighed, strolling over to grab my tank top. It didn't escape my notice that his eyes followed me as I walked across the room, but then again, he was a guy; I mean, that was the only reason he'd be following me, right? Cause I was half-naked? I threw on my shirt quickly, well-aware that I could feel John's eyes watching me the whole time. I shifted from one foot to the other nervously. Um…what was I supposed to do, exactly? I mean, he was in my room.

"John…?"

He looked up at me, expression unreadable. We stared at one another and I realized he was waiting for me to speak. Well crap. I didn't know what I'd wanted to say. Get out? No, couldn't do that—it was rude. I said the first thing that came to my mind.

"You're supposed to be at work."

He stretched his legs in front of him, arms crossed. "I told you the conversation wasn't over."

"But…but…you're missing work."

He raised an eyebrow, and I mumbled under my breath. "Of course, course you wouldn't care about that, why worry about going to work when you want to want to scare the bejeezus out of your roommate, right? Exactly. Of course." I sighed, wearily running a hand through my damp hair. "Alright then, you wanna talk? Let's talk."

"Sit."

"Excuse me? Are you ordering me about in my own room?"

He shot me a look and I looked down, moving to sit next to him on the bed. Guess I was still in trouble. Right. I waited for him to speak—I had nothing to say—he was the one who said the conversation wasn't over. I'd _told _him that I was completely safe and fine—he had no reason to treat me like…like…well, I didn't know _what _he was treating me like, but I didn't like it.

"I'm going to talk, and you're going to listen, and answer my questions, understand?"

I nodded, mumbling under my breath, "Not like I have much choice in the matter, is it?"

"You don't. Now, you left Burbank?"

"Yep."

"To go to some campground in the middle of nowhere?"

"Well, that wasn't my intent—stop glaring at me, fine, the answer is yes."

"And you just thought you'd wander around, at night, in the woods, alone?"

"Well when you put it that way…it doesn't sound as good."

His tone was no-nonsense. "Answer the damn question Beth."

God he was annoying at times. I threw my arms in the air. "_Yes_! I did. Is that what you want to hear? Because, really, I'm not quite sure what you want me to say. I did leave Burbank. I did drive to nowheresville, CA, to calm down. And I did walk in the woods alone at night. _Everything_ you said is correct, but you're _not getting the whole damn story!_"

John was off the bed in a flash, and I tried not to scoot back to where he couldn't reach me. I realized, a little too late, I shouldn't have tested him. Raising my voice to him probably wasn't the smartest thing to do either.

"You are walking a _very_ fine line, Beth. What I want to hear is why you felt the need to travel halfway across the central state _without a cell phone_. Or why you felt the need to just _assume_ everything was fine. What would you have done had we had a mission? Had something happened to Chuck or Sarah? Or myself? Was it not worth your effort to _pick up a phone_ and call?"

I looked down at the ground, speaking in a small voice. "I-I didn't think about it."

"You-didn't-think. Well that much is obvious." The words were full of scorn, and I literally flinched. With every word he spoke, I felt my anger dissipate, leaving behind an empty feeling of guilt. The only thing I was thinking of was getting away—the urge to flee was great. No, no, don't do it, Beth. Don't you dare start to cry. I couldn't help it. I kept my head down, biting furiously on my lip to keep from crying. What if something had happened? What if they had been attacked? Or hurt? Or if a mission went awry, and I wasn't there? Granted, it was only overnight, but a lot can happen in a night. And—oh God. I shakily took a breath. I needed to calm down. Dwelling didn't help, but-

"Look at me, Beth."

I shook my head, eyes trained to the floor. "No, go 'way."

"You heard me."

"No." I realized I was acting like a petulant child, but I didn't care. I didn't want him to see me crying—not over this. Maybe over anything else, but this…

"Remember that fine line? You're on that tightrope, Beth. _Look at me._"

I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. Well that's gross. Shaking my head again, I stood up; head still down, intent on getting the heck out of dodge. Again. He grabbed my wrist, stopping me and forced me to meet his eyes. I didn't full-out cry, but I couldn't stop one or two tears from falling. I looked at him for a minute before I tried to pull out of his grasp. He didn't give; instead, he pulled me to his chest, using one of his hands to stroke my hair.

"Shh, steady now, no reason to cry."

As if saying that ever helped.

I cried harder, and though I knew it was a pretty stupid reason for crying, I couldn't seem to get myself to stop. John lowered himself on the floor, pulling me to sit between his legs. I finally stopped crying, but didn't move from where I had burrowed in John's shirt. One reason being I didn't wanna face the conflict and the other being I probably looked an absolute wreck.

"Am I gonna have to tell you a third time to look at me?"

"Depends, y'know they say third time's a charm." My words were muffled by his shirt, but I knew he heard me.

"Yeah, and they also count to three when you're in trouble too."

I peeked up at him enough so that he could give me a stern glance. "So...I'm guessing I'm in trouble then?"

"You think?"

"Look, I—"

"—you slept in the back of your truck. You contacted _no one_ when you went AWOL. Anything could have happened to you! What would you have done had members of Fulcrum snuck up on you? You could have been beaten on the side of the road somewhere, raped and left for dead."

"But I wasn't…"

"_But you could have been._"

I felt his muscles tense, and sighed. He was really going over the top on this; I mean, I was fine, I knew I was fine. It's not like he flipped out this much for Chuck or Sarah, then again, they didn't live with-holy…no, no, I was wrong. I had to be. But no…it made sense. He was _worried_. He, but…well, I wasn't going to get my answers just sitting there. But I couldn't just ask him straight out, he'd never answer. I stared at my hands momentarily, finally deciding how I wanted to go about things.

"John, have you even slept at all?"

He grunted, and I shook my head. Course he didn't. "I'm sorry I didn't call. I honestly didn't think about it. After our lil' spat, I just…I have a tendency to let my temper get the better of me, and so I didn't take out my anger on you, I thought it'd be better to leave for awhile and cool off. Awhile turned out to be longer than I expected. I did sleep in the back of Duke, but I didn't sleep well—I would have known if someone was tryin' to sneak up on me. Not to mention, contrary to popular belief, the back of a truck isn't all that comfy. You know, you didn't have to stay up 'til I got home."

He grunted again and I took that as a 'probably not but I did anyway'. The poor man hadn't had sleep…he had to be dead tired; he _looked _dead tired. Actually….I held back a yawn myself…well, if I didn't have to work til the afternoon…naptime was in order. John needed a nap too. I went to stand, John joining me. Actually, he stood faster than I did; technically, he helped me. How'd he get up so fast? No matter—I grabbed onto the hem of his shirt, pulling him with me. He didn't put up too much of a fight, grumbled a lil' bout me gruffin' his shirt, but as I told him, it was already rumpled. We got to the couch and I gently pushed him to the couch.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"Well, I am going to grab some covers. And my pillow. And then your pillow. And we're going to take a nap. Because you have obviously not slept. And my back is killing me from the truck. So you're going to settle in, and sleep some before arriving late to work. And me, well, I'm just gonna plain sleep, kay?"

I didn't give him time to answer—heading to grab a couple pillows off my bed and my top cover. When I came back to the living room, John was standing again, and I shook my head, tossing him one of the pillows.

"Lay down."

"Can't. Got a shift at the—"

"—Buymore? Yeah, and you're already late to it. I'll call later say we got food poisoning or something. You need sleep; I need sleep, so let's sleep."

I left the room to change, returning in shorts and a tank top—perfect pajamas. John had finally lain down on the couch, and I smiled at him. He was such a bear. A big growly, sometimes grumpy, secret teddy bear. Grabbing my cover, I laid it over him, tucking him in.

He growled, but it was an amused growl, so I simply ignored it, chatting away. "There, see? Sleep, not too difficult, eh? You'll feel a lot better once you get some rest. Now, you have pillow, cover…am I forgetting anything? Don't suppose you want me to sing you a lullaby? Cause I can—I know a million and one." I laughed at the look on his face. "Right, no lullaby. Alright then, you're all set—"

"—where are you sleeping?"

"Umm….the floor?"

"The floor?"

"Well…yeah. I mean, it's decently comfortable and…"

"Why not your bed?"

"Because this is more fun! Don't question me. You're supposed to be asleep."

"What if I can't sleep?"

"Count sheep. Well, in your case, maybe ya oughta count grenades or guns, but same rule still applies." I leaned over and brushed my lips against his cheek before settling down on the floor, wrapped in one of the living room throws. Shifting a couple times, I finally settled in. Mostly. I shifted again and heard a low whisper from above me.

"Get up here."

Turning over on my back, I looked up at the couch. John was staring down, amusement in his eyes, even if his tone was slightly gruff. I gave him a confused look before uttering an articulate, "Huh?"

"Get up here; you'll keep us both up with your tossing and turning. We can share the couch."

"Oh…okay, but…well, are you sure? Right…with the look you're givin' me, I'd say ya are."

I grabbed my pillow and placed it on the opposite side of the couch before examining the situation. Hmm…."Legs inside or out? Wait, don't answer that—you're a military man, likes to be prepared—you're gonna want your legs on the outside."

Shimmying over him, I snuggled under the covers, trying to keep my feet mostly on my side. I succeeded, sorta. Before I was asleep, I whispered a "thank you" to the darkness. I figured John would be asleep, but I wanted to-

"What for Tulip?" Oh. He was awake.

"For worryin' and waitin' up for me. M'sorry I was out so late—I didn't mean to worry you so much."

"Just…call next time. Thought we were supposed to be asleep?"

I didn't answer him, instead burrowing in the covers with a smile on my face. He hadn't said it, but he was worried. About me. And my safety. He _cared._

_

* * *

_

_"I want you to want me as I dance round and round and round, shi-di-ri-di-duy, shi-di-ri-di-da-na, shi-di-ri-di-duy, shi-di-ri-di-da-na…"_

I woke with a start to the sound of Ruslana's _Wild Dances _ringing from my phone. Ugh, that was on John's end of the couch—I didn't wanna answer it. Too far away. Mm...what was that touching me? I took mental stock of my location on the couch, and came to the conclusion that our 'legs inside/legs outside' approach to napping didn't last long. John's legs were wrapped around mine, his foot (had to be the left one—it was missing a digit) pressed against my bare stomach—my shirt must have ridden up during my nap. My own feet were curled into the crook of John's knee. Well…this wasn't awkward.

"You gonna pick that up?"

"Maybe. It's too far for me to reach, wanna pass it this way?"

He didn't even look up as he flung and arm out and threw the phone in my direction. Thank goodness I could catch.

"Mmm, Sarah?"

"Beth! Where are you?"

"Um...on the couch?"

There was laughter in her voice as she replied, "Do you even know what time it is?"

"I'm assuming since you're waking me up, it's sometime near my shift to start?"

"Try after, actually. It's 3:30."

"It's _what?_ Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! I got home early this mornin'. John and I were just gonna take a lil' catnap. I guess it turned out to be longer than expected. I'll be there in fifteen, if that's alright? I'm really sorry I'm—"

"—don't worry about it. I'll just close early today. I'll let you and Casey_ nap_."

"Oh, but are you sure you don't want me to—hey! We weren't nappin' like—not like—oh, Sarah!"

"That is my name. Are you and Casey still coming over to Ellie's for dinner?"

"Yeah, I think so, if we wake up for that. I think lazy bear fell asleep again." I felt John's foot press on my stomach, and laughed. Or maybe not, he seems to be—hey, stop that! John! Sarah, I'll call you back later? I've got to fight off the bear who thinks he's found 'tickle-me-Beth'. You still sure about closin' up Orange Orange early?"

"I'm sure. We'll expect you at Ellie's, dinner is at six. You and John have fun napping till then—remember what I said before though, he can be quite the 'experienced' bear."

"We will, and—Sarah!" I started to berate her, heard a laugh, and she hung up the phone. Well, how rude. What was I doing? Right, getting back at John. Who was looking at me with that damn gorgeous smirk of his. Well, I'd show him—I'd just…well, I didn't know what I'd do, but…

"Sarah?"

Darn that man for interuptin' my thoughts. "Yep, that was her. She offered to close the Orange Orange early, said she didn't need me there. So…I guess…I've got the day, well, afternoon as it were, free."

I pulled my feet to me, giving John a half-smile. "So…whatcha wanna do?"

He groaned and rolled over, throwing the cover over himself in the process. Lord, you'd think he didn't get any sleep last night. Oh wait, he didn't. Still, that didn't excuse sleeping the day away. Unless I wanted to sleep the day away, because there's always an exception to every rule—I happen to be that exception. Grabbing the end of the cover, I started tugging. Man did he have a strong grip.

"C'mon lazy! There's daylight in the swamp! You know I'll pester you 'til you get up—and you also know I don't give up."

"Your fault I got zero sleep."

"Ah, false. I did not tell you to wait up for me. Now c'mon! We can go clean guns or something."

"No."

"What? The famous John Casey saying 'no' to cleaning guns? Are you sick? Or just too comfy? Oh! I know what we can do! We can watch this really great series my cousin gave me for my birthday three years ago. You'll love it! It's about this group of space cowboys, they wander the galaxy making money and getting into awesome fights. They even use a lot of guns. Actually, there's this one character—Jayne Cobb—he kinda reminds me of you. Actually, you both even have the same initials! You'll love it! The first DVD's already in the player; I meant to watch it the other day but never got a chance. Cause that was the day—"

"—Beth, you're rambling. What's the show called?"

"Whoops. Didn't mean to ramble." John had sat up while I was rambling, and I scooted over so I could have the middle cushion, as per our usual movie arrangements. The show started with a flurry of gunshots and blasts of light in the cover of darkness; my eyes were riveted to the screen.

"The name?"

"Huh?"

"Show's name. You never answered me."

"Oh! Sorry, got distracted. Oh, look! First spaceship! Whoops, distracted again, sorry. The show, it's called Firefly."

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So there it is...next chapter done! Hope you enjoyed!


	14. Forrest Fire: Part One

As you know, I only own Beth and the few odds'n'ends characters I've created-Chuck doesn't belong to me (sadly). So, here's the first part of this next section-it's set during Chuck versus the Broken Heart. A big **thank you** to the readers and reviewers-you make my day! Also, if you haven't had a chance to read the companion pieces to this story, then please do, because I and _lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts_ (my co-writer) appreciate it bunches. Now, onto the story!

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"I'm sure you've all had a chance to welcome Agent Alex Forrest."

Sarah responded with "Of course general." I simply nodded. Not like I had much choice in the matter. She was here to stay, temporarily, whether I liked it or not. When Beckman alerted me there'd be a 49B in place, my initial response was to get mad, but I held my cool—I had to, for Sarah's sake. When I walked into the Orange Orange that morning, I had _not _expected to find such a…cold…woman. Alex Forrest didn't feel the need to get on anyone's good side, that's for sure. She barely said two words to me! It was, quite frankly, annoying. And then she started nosing about Chuck and Sarah. I heard John and Forrest speak at the same time, and looked up. Well _that _was weird. Forrest kept her eyes on the General, but I saw John glance over at Forrest with some surprise before shaking it off and focusing back on the General. Hmm, that may be a smart idea.

From what she'd said, we'd be looking for Rashad Ahmed, who is the key link to terrorist Hassan Khalid. Yeah, because that sounded easy. Ahmed was believed to have had a heart attack, and checked in the local hospital as 'Harry Lime' due to the fact he needed a pacemaker. Criminals always had such great pseudonyms. I mean, c'mon, the man couldn't have found a name that was a bit more…Middle Eastern? Shit, Forrest spoke again, and I shook my head. Now was not the time to distract myself by the names of criminals. I needed to focus.

"…must infiltrate the hospital to confirm Ahmed's identity. Questions?"

"Sounds straightforward General." As I was standing next to John, I heard his soft grunt of approval, and shot him a dirty look. Why was he so pleased? _Anyone_ could have said it sounded straightforward. Because it was. Forrest talking only held up the mission—acting all high and mighty. And John? What was he thinking—giving approving looks to Forrest. She was the enemy! Okay, well, she wasn't Ahmed, but she certainly wasn't any of our friends—she was trying to get Sarah in trouble. And I wasn't about to stand for it.

Beckman finalized the mission details, and after she let Sarah field the 49B question (which was a crappy explanation, I had to admit—I mean, how was Chuck supposed to sort through all that bullshit to find what he really needed to know?), she ended the conference call, leaving the five of us standing around awkwardly.

Chuck looked around the room before asking, "So…what's the plan?"

"We do our job," was Forrest's terse reply, and I found myself bristling at the statement. 'Do our jobs?' To some of us, our jobs were more than just screwing around with other people's lives and catching the bad guys. Sure, Forrest could be an excellent agent for all I know, but from what I could tell, she had no bedside manner—hell, she had no heart.

I walked towards the monitors on the left side of the room, pausing to touch Chuck's arm in a comforting gesture before speaking. "Well, we're gonna figure out a game plan—one that will be safe for us and for the civilians in the hospital because, although _some_ people may not realize it, there are others who could inadvertently become involved in the case, and their safety is just as important as catching the baddies, if not more important. We have to think of _all_ lives, not just the ones we're setting out to extinguish. Cause, as Dr. Seuss says, "A life is a life, no matter how small."

"Our mission is to be completed by any means necessary—surely the country would benefit from the capture of national terrorists. A few lives lost in the long run won't matter when the enemy is caught."

I stopped dead in my tracks, closing my eyes momentarily so I wouldn't lose my temper and haul off and give that gal a bit of a Tennessee ass-whoopin'. Spinning on my heel, I didn't stop approaching until I was toe to toe and eye to eye with her. "_Surely_ then, you're not really protecting the country then, are you? Because protecting the country means more than just protecting the land, or the government bigwigs. Protecting the country means looking out for _everyone_. It means laying down your life for the farmer, the mechanic, the accountant. It means sacrificing your time and the things you love to stop the people who threaten our way of life. Whether that threat is national terrorists or communist countries or drug smugglers or mafia members, _we_ protect the country. And why do we do it? Because we believe in a better world—a safer world than the one we presently live in. The 'one for the sake of many' thought process you've got goin' on is good and all for wars. It's good when you're one of the many. But what about that one being sacrificed? Do you think he _wanted_ to be sacrificed? Do you think he _chose_ it? Do you—"I cut off my spiel abruptly, taking a calming breath. I'd clenched my fists so much my nails had left marks, I knew so.

Giving her the coldest glare I could muster, I finished with, "The reason you do your job so well, Forrest, is because you're focused and driven. I respect that. But your cold-hearted downright ruthless approach to missions aren't gonna fly with me; they're not gonna fit in with the way things are run. You're here to observe, and you're here to _temporarily_ replace Agent Walker. You will collect your findings and report again to the General. Now, I think it's best you remember that. Because I will _not_ tolerate your lackadaisical attitude when innocent lives are at stake. Now if you'll pardon me, since you seem to be rather dedicated in your _job, _I think you oughta be getting up to the Orange Orange—you're already late, and that is, in part at least, your _job_."

Turning, I reached the monitors, easily bringing up the hospital blueprints. I sorely wanted to turn and see what the group's reactions were. But I wouldn't. I wasn't lying when I said there was a job to do. And currently, my job required me to look at hospital blueprints and stew. Well, look at hospital blueprints—the stewing, not so much. But, I couldn't help it. Life was _not_ fair. Anyone could see Sarah was good for this role—it was her relationship with Chuck that made Chuck as safe as he was. Damn 49B. Or-better phrasing: damn Alexandra Forrest. With her long blonde hair and her 'I'm the ice queen' persona. What a _bitch_.


	15. Forrest Fire:  Part Two

Hi readers! Here's the next part of Forrest Fire! As I've said before, I don't own Chuck. I'll try to have the next part done and posted tomorrow or the next day-I still have two more different sections before AC and I post our monsterous 'Versus the Ring' drabble, which'll be on our Chuck vs the Chuckless Summer: Beth & AJ story. Thanks for reading, and

Enjoy!

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The mission was simple enough—go in, plant the bug, sneak back out. Forrest was going with us instead of Sarah, something I certainly wasn't comfortable or happy with, and from Sarah's emotions, she wasn't either. One person who _didn't_ seem upset by Sarah's replacement was John, a subject that was a bit of sore spot between the two of us. When I brought it up at dinner the other night, I was met with a series of grunts and growls, none of which were the appropriate 'she's an annoying bitka' variety that I would have preferred. Rather, they seemed to be acceptance and mild approval. And that irritated me. Hell, _she_ irritated me.

"Checkmate."

Like that. John and Forrest shared a look, and I inwardly snarled. That was happening a lot more these days. Both their talking at the same time, and my snarling. I didn't like either one. Casey told Chuck to get the door, and Sarah and I both started to make our way out of the van.

"Beth, you stay here. Agent Forrest and I have this."

I narrowed my eyes at John, trying to get him to mentally change his mind, but my psychic powers must not have been working. Because his next words were not the 'okay, I lied—maybe having a rational person on this mission makes sense—join us' that I wanted to hear. With one last grumbled "Stay," he headed out of the van while Forrest told Walker to stay in the van as well. Poor Chuck. He looked slightly panicked. Then again, it _was_ the hospital at which his sister and her fiancé worked. After Sarah assured him they wouldn't run into either Ellie or Devon, they left the van, leaving me and Sarah to watch surveillance. With John and Forrest gone, I had no problems voicing my thoughts.

"How dare he! That _man_. Ordering me about like a dog—'stay'. Who the hell does he think he is!"

"Casey was—"

"Don't try to defend him; I'm getting sick and bloody tired of his just rolling over and _letting_ that Forrest take control. He's not even trying…gah!"

I threw my hand in the air in frustration, muttering to myself about his stupidity. Then I realized I wasn't really being a good friend. I mean, John was being an ass, but Sarah had to have been going through some difficult times too—I mean, the 49B would determine whether or not she stayed here in Burbank. But the General _couldn't_ dismiss Sarah—she was damn good at her job, and crucial to Chuck's sanity.

"I'm sorry Sarah; I've just been ranting, and I really have no reason to. How are you holding up?"

She gave me a look, and I held it. I knew what she was thinking—she didn't talk about her feelings normally, and voicing them now would be hard. But she had to say _something_. Bottling up everything wasn't healthy.

"We should watch the feeds."

Sighing, I glanced at the feeds for five seconds before shaking my head. "We should, and we technically are. Sarah…look, I can't understand what you're feeling. I know what you and Chuck have or don't have—whatever that crazy relationship is, it's complicated. I'm not stupid enough to think there's nothing there—on Chuck's part, well, you can see how you affect him. He really cares for you. And I know you care for him too, on some level at least. You two work so well _because _of that. Forrest…she's, okay, she's a downright ice-cold ho, personally, but I believe I have a bit of a bias. She can't…just, okay, I'm not making myself, I'm not being very articulate, am I? I just want you to know, I'm here if you need to talk. Or if you need to spar, or vent or just scream. If you need to vent your frustrations by beating something up, I'm at your disposal. Mind you, I won't just roll over—I'm no punching bag."

She smiled slightly, and I figured that was something. "Thanks Beth, I'll keep that in mind. Y'know, you're not half bad. You work well on this team, despite my initial misgivings. You fit in—Forrest doesn't."

"Coming from you, I'll take that as a compliment. I just wish _some _people would see that."

"Casey'll come around—I know he will."

I scoffed, but felt a little better. Sarah was probably right, and she'd talked! Which was a good thing. What wasn't a good thing was the four letter curse I heard her utter under her breath not five seconds after our talk.

"What? What's happening?"

"Ellie."

"What! But she's—"I looked over Sarah's shoulder, and sure as the world, Ellie was there, and heading straight towards where Forrest and Chuck were. Well fudge.

"This is bad…she's not going to divert—shit. Sarah, keep me posted where she's at, kay?" I shimmied out of my black pullover, leaving me in a white 'Classy Cowgirl' fitted t-shirt. Well, that and black jeans looked less suspicious than black-on-black.

"Thought Casey told you—"

"Casey can shove it for all I damn well care; he's not the leader of this mission, we're a team. He'll thank me later considering if I don't do something now, our whole mission is blown, thanks to Ms. Tranq Happy and her inability to be…ugh, smart."

Without waiting for Sarah's reply, I darted out the van door, and managed to sneak towards the main entrance of the hospital. Pausing outside, I hid behind some bushes, glancing down at my arm. Well fudge, this was gonna suck. Slipping the small knife I always carried out from my boot, I quickly slashed it across my arm, deep enough so it'd bleed, but hopefully wouldn't cause a scar. I winced, but kept my curses to myself. All part of the plan…holy hell that hurt. I heard Sarah warn Chuck and Forrest about Ellie—with the former replying they were sitting ducks.

Well, time to make my entrance.

After rumpling my hair a bit, I rushed in the doors, before shouting out to Ellie. She turned, registered my bloody arm, and immediately rushed over towards me, and thankfully, away from Chuck and Forrest. Crisis averted. Except…

"Oh my lord, what happened to your arm? Are you all right? It looks deep—how did it get cut?"

I shrugged, wincing slightly as the muscles tensed—sliced it worse than I thought. "Oh, um, well I was at the Orange Orange, and I was trying to reach the extra bowls up on the top shelf. I yanked them so they'd fall and I could catch them. Turns out that new girl put some of the knives we use to cut fruit up with inside the bowls, and so when the bowls fell, the knives did too. I managed to dodge one of them, but the other one caught my arm."

"Why would she put the knives in the bowls where you couldn't see them? That's a recipe for disaster!"

I shook my head. "No idea, but it was a stupid decision on her part—she's not very good at her job. Don't think she'll last long, thankfully."

"I can imagine. We should take you down to the ER, they'll want to—"

"—Would it be all right if you just patched it up real quick? I'm not…I don't…doctors and I—I can't…"

"You don't like hospitals."

"I kinda have a complex. Wouldn't have come at all, but I couldn't get the bleeding stopped. But I didn't have a good experience when I was younger—lots of doctors and crowds and…I haven't really been comfortable with them since. I'm getting better but…"

"It's not a problem. We can use the room just down the hall. Ellie led the way down the back, away from all other members of the mission. I sent a text to Sarah telling them I'd be there soon as I could—but if they couldn't wait, they didn't have to.

Fifteen minutes, and five stitches later, Ellie pronounced me free to go. After warning me to be careful, and to make sure not to use my right arm too much (no worries—one of the pros of choosing which arm to slice, you can slice the non-dominant hand), I was able to get the heck outta dodge, and headed straight to the van which was, thankfully, still there. Slipping inside, I told Sarah to drive. Chuck was riding shotgun, which left me in back with Forrest and John, both wearing similar conspiracy smirks. Well that is annoying. I turned to Chuck, figuring it'd be safest to address him—at the moment, out of the active duty mission people, I liked him best.

"How'd the plan go? Did we get the bug planted?"

"Not exactly. Though I met with Ahmed's doctor—very scary, he's rather cree—hey! What happened to your arm?"

At his words, the other occupants (minus Sarah, seeing as she was driving) looked at my arm, which was covered by a rather large, gauzy bandage.

"Oh, it's just a flesh wound."

"But how'd it happen? Normally people don't walk into the hospital without wounds and come out with them."

I had to hand it to Chuck—he had a point. Laughing at his logical statement, I casually responded, "Well, I always _did_ dare to be different."

"Answer the question Beth."

I looked over at John, the smirk now off his face and replaced by a scowl. Oh, _him_. He could get over himself. Why was I gonna tell him anything—he'd just get snarky about it. But there were others in the vehicle—I'd have to tell the truth, if only they'd pester me about it.

"Knife wound."

"What! Someone cut you? But the hospital—"

"Halt, Chuck. Stop your brain right there. You'll worry yourself if you keep going. Someone didn't do this to me—_I_ did this to me."

He started sputtering, and I elaborated. "Ellie was gonna have you and Forrest trapped like a rat if I hadn't done anything. So I cut my arm, Ellie treated it—easy as cake. Got y'all in the clear for your mission."

"Why's it so bandaged?"

"Oh, well, turns out I don't know my own strength…it was a little deeper than I expected…"

"_How_ deep?"

Ah, the growly man speaks again. He was glaring in my direction, so I glared right back. He had no right to get snarly—it was my body, not his. Besides, I did what had to be done. Shrugging as if I were talking about the weather, I replied, "Five stitches."

Forrest, who remained silent up until then, finally spoke. "So you just cut your arm and waltz in. What makes you think that would work? Or that Bartowski's sister wouldn't be suspicious."

"First correction—I didn't waltz. As for the second one, it would work because of the kind of person Ellie is. She helps people; she _cares_. You obviously wouldn't know a lot about that though, wouldya? As for why she wouldn't be suspicious: as far as she knows, I was cut when an incompetent yogurt temp stuck a knife in the top bowls because of her negligence. Not that that would surprise anyone."

Forrest snarled, and I smirked. Ha! Though I had to admit—her snarl sounded creepily similar to John's. "Maybe it was _someone's_ stupidity to cut too deep, I have to wonder."

Oh _hell_ no she didn't. Chuck's jaw dropped, and even John looked surprised, though I noticed with some degree of anger that he wasn't jumping to my defense. What kind of a roommate was he anyway? Voice deadly calm and my face devoid of any emotion, I nimbly plucked my knife from my shoe, spinning it expertly one-handed.

"Or maybe it was the razor-sharp blade…cuts clean through practically anything. You get sliced with this, you won't even feel it for about ten seconds-just a thin line on your skin, and drip, drip, drip, the blood steadily pours out. I'd _hate_ to see that happen, wouldn't you?"

With a flick, the knife left my hand mid-air, before I nabbed it and placed it back in my shoe. Teach her to be a bitch. I could be scary when I wanted to be—it was that wanting part that always threw me. But hey—you don't call _me_ stupid and get away with it. The van was quiet for a moment before John spoke up.

"You had orders."

He shoulda stayed quiet. Be calm, Beth. Don't pick a fight with him; play nice… "Yeah, but y'all needed help."

"You disobeyed direct—"

"Had I not ignored your orders, the mission would have been a failure. Because Ellie woulda caught Chuck and Forrest, and then where would we have been? Up shit creek without a paddle, that's for sure. And last I checked, _Major_, this was a team effort, not a dictatorship. We work as a team—more Musketeers than Zorro."

We met eyes, but for once, I wasn't backing down. He knew I had a point—he had to know. But he was too damn stubborn to let it go. It was just like a man.

"Let's not forget, _Daniels_, that I outrank you. You fall under _my _command—"

"Like hell I do! You may have age and experience on me, but that does _not_ make you my superior. You can't order me around like one of your soldiers. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"Is that so?"

There was clear challenge in his voice, and whether out of stubbornness or stupidity, I wasn't giving up. No, the man had been sidin' with Forrest since she's been here. I wasn't gonna sit there and _let_ him just waltz around acting as if he owned the place for some…weird attempt to prove his manliness and power over the mission. Hells bells, he'd pushed me too far.

"It _is_. Wanna try and prove differently?"

He leaned forward and I did in return. We were almost nose to nose…anywhere or anytime else, the close proximity may have caused my heart some serious palpitations, but in the current situation, the only thing I felt was rage. He spoke low enough so I had to lean even closer to hear him.

"Need I remind you of the subway incident?"

I flushed. How _dare _he! That was…that was below the belt, even for him. I only hoped to God that no one else heard what he was saying; because that was _not_ a conversation I'd be having with the occupants of the car anytime soon. Fighting to keep my voice quiet, I answered him.

"That does _not_ count and you know it. I was—you _promised_ me you'd never bring it up again!"

"I promised I'd never tease you, not that I'd never bring it up again."

I was practically shaking with anger and embarrassment. That just _wasn't_ fair.

"What incident are we talking about? What happened?"

I shifted away when I heard Chuck speak, and only then realized how close John and I had been. "_Nothing_ happened. Just a lil' spot of trouble is all—nothing to worry about."

"I don't know, Agent Daniels, I think this may be something pertinent to analyzing the team mission here."

"The only thing you'll be analyzing if you don't shut up is your broken nose in a mirror. I am tired, I am injured, and I am about two seconds from knocking that sneer right off your face. _Don't_ mess with me."

Chuck visibly recoiled at the dark edge to my tone, but Forrest didn't even flinch. I felt the van stop, and didn't wait for Sarah to shut it off before I hopped out. Oh good, we were at Castle. They could explain the mission—I was going home. I started heading to Duke, when I felt someone grab me by the shoulder, forcing me to a halt.

Wonderful. It was John. "I think we need to have a little talk."

I rolled my eyes. "That's nice, but I'm not talking to you. So you can just go talk to yourself."

"That's not a request; it's an order."

Whatever. What was he going to do to stop me? I shrugged him off, and went to turn back around when he grabbed me by the upper arm and tried to pull me back. _Fuck!_ Tears unwillingly filled my eyes as John applied pressure to my fresh stitches, and without even thinking about it, I hauled off and punched him. He let go momentarily, and I stared in shock.

Oh damn. I was dead. So freakin' dead. I didn't even get to make a will. I backed up a step, and watched silently as John gingerly touched his jaw. I wasn't going to apologize though, he'd grabbed my hurt arm—what was I supposed to do?

"Follow."

He didn't say anything else, and started heading down to Castle. I think he knew I knew I had crossed a line because after that, there was no way I was gonna try and leave. We passed by Forrest, Chuck and Sarah; I was sure they were wondering what was going on. John looked mad to beat the dickens, and I still was slightly bewildered on what the heck had happened. How had I punched him? And how was I still standing afterwards? This was the second time I had accidently struck him—okay, the first time was pretty purposeful, but still—second time I had hit him. And I was still living. I absently noticed he'd let us to the shooting range, and bit my lip when the door shut with an audible 'click'.

My arm throbbed, I was still grumpy, and I was almost positive I had just awoken the proverbial sleeping giant. They always said don't startle a bear; well hell, I was pretty sure I'd poked him with a sharp pointy stick. He reached for me, and I couldn't help but flinch.

Voice gruff, he sighed and reached for me again. "Just wanna see your arm. Might have pulled the stitches loose."

I nodded, and went to sit on one of the tables. If I was gonna be in trouble and get an injury looked at, I might as well be comfy. He worked in silence, slowly unwrapping the bandages until a neat row of stitches was seen. He hadn't really hurt it, mighta tugged the stitches a bit, as there was a bit of blood where previously there hadn't been. He was gentle, and it occurred to me that this was the…kindest…we'd been to each other since Forrest had arrived.

"I'm…I'm sorry 'bout, well, you know, punching you."

"I deserved it."

Well, that was different. I expected him to be mad about it. "I didn't handle the situation well. I struck out…quite literally. Is your jaw okay?"

"It'll be fine. One of your stitches tore—I'll have to fix it up, if that's all right?"

I nodded, and he went to get the supplies needed. This was gonna hurt. Curses. At least I trusted him with a needle—better him then that Forrest woman. He returned and I tried to focus on something, anything else. I really wasn't fond of watching a needle thread my skin together.

"You don't like Agent Forrest."

"How on earth didya figure that one out?"

He gave a disapproving look at my tone and I sighed. "I'm sorry, yes; I'm not real fond of her."

"She knows her job."

"But that's all she knows. She may be the best damn 'by-the-book' agent on this side of the country, but she doesn't play nice with others."

"I don't play nice with others."

"Maybe not completely, but you understand more than just protocol. You see the value in Sarah's being here, and her relationship with Bartowski."

He didn't answer me, and I looked over at him. Ugh, needle in skin—closing eyes now. "You _do _see the value, don't you?"

"Walker's a pro. She's good at her job."

"So you'd be upset if she left?"

He looked up at me, and I knew he wouldn't answer me—I could see it in his eyes. I dunno what possessed me to ask my next question, because it certainly wasn't what I meant to say.

"Would you be upset if I left?"

His hands stilled, and I bit my lip. Stupid Beth, what'd you go opening your mouth for? He continued again, neatly finishing my stitches before setting aside the needle.

"You…lot a people'd be upset if you left."

Voice soft, I couldn't help but ask, "But would _you_?"

My breath caught in my throat as he reached up and brushed a strand of hair away from my face. He leaned close to me and I found myself leaning towards him too. We were so close…he was gonna, was he really gonna…

"Major, Beckman's on the line."

We both jumped back fairly quickly, myself a bit less composed than John was. If I hated Forrest before, it had shot straight to loathing with that interruption. I couldn't be sure, but…I was almost positive…he was going to kiss me. And she had _ruined_ it. He grunted, and I detected a hint of annoyance. Good, ha! He was annoyed with her. It was a step. She looked like she was gonna wait by the door until he joined her, and he must have realized that because he told her he'd be a second. She begrudgingly left, and I turned to John. I wasn't hopeful enough to think he'd attempt to kiss me again. I mean, that could have been heat of the moment thing—maybe he didn't really, aw hell, who was I kidding?

"Want me to bandage your arm back up?"

I wanted to say yes—I really did, but I couldn't think with him there, and I really needed to think. To mull over what had happened. And to attach a picture of Forrest to the targets and have at it.

"Nah, I'll wrap it up real quick. Beckman won't wanna be kept waitin'. Meet you there in a few?"

He nodded, and left, thankfully leaving me alone with my thoughts. He had almost kissed me. I had almost let him. And he'd said he'd miss me. Well, he didn't say that out loud, but that's what he was thinking. But…he didn't agree with me about Forrest, which was problematic. Forrest was a thorn in my side…one I desperately wished to extract. My mind was in turmoil. I knew there were some facts I couldn't avoid. The first being Forrest and I didn't get along in the slightest. The second, John Casey had definitely almost kissed me. He would miss me if I left. But I couldn't ignore that he and Forrest were similar, and that he looked to her with something akin to approval and slight intrigue. What bothered me most was I didn't know how he felt, not truly. If things came down to it, if Sarah _did_ get dismissed and it came down to Forrest and myself…I didn't know who John would side with. And if he _did_ choose Forrest…where did that leave me?

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Hope you enjoyed! As you can see...I'm not a very big Alex Forrest fan. Please review-I thoroughly enjoy hearing from y'all!


	16. Forrest Fire:  Part Three

Hi guys! As you know, I only own Beth and a small menegerie of minor characters. Chuck (sadly) and his respective gang are not mine. So, here's the next part, I hope ya like it. :) Thank you for reading!

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"I'm not jealous, why would I be jealous…she's just a frosty, cold-hearted ice twig. Why would I be jealous of that? I'm _not_ jealous. Nothing to be jealous of. Just because she's apparently a grand ole' stripper. See? That's all she is, a stripper—nothing but a typical spy-slut. With no morals or compassion or real hair. She probably dyes that mop of blonde. Probably gets Botox too—bet she's fake as the nails she wears and the moans she makes. What a ho. Nope, nothing to be jealous of."

"Who are you jealous of?"

_"I'm not jealous!"_

I swiveled around and saw AJ giving me a slightly concerned look. "Right, comadre, not jealous. Got it."

Taking a deep breath, I stopped pacing by the fountain and had the decency to look sheepish. "Sorry, I'm a little…stressed."

"That's one way to put it. Everything…all right?"

I ran a hand through my messy hair. Truth be told, I had no idea how long I'd been pacing by the fountain; ever since John said he was going down to Castle to clean some guns. Again. He didn't need to clean guns. Sure that's what he'd be cleaning…guns, psh. I saw the way he looked at her. Hell, I had to watch the security feeds while Ms. Stripper gave the boys a show, and I saw the way his eyes raked over her body. Well I hope he had fun. I hope she shot herself. I mean, what did she have that I didn't? Besides some apparently killer pole moves. And a freakishly similar train of thought to John. But…similar people didn't always work out. And John wasn't looking for someone. Besides, he had almost kissed me. And he hadn't almost kissed _her_. And…this train of thought would drive me crazy. Whatever, I'm over it. It's not like John and I would ever get together anyway. It didn't make me envious that John hadn't looked at _me_ the way he looked at Forrest.

"Um, Beth?"

"What! Sorry, what?"

"You're all right?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess. I'll be all right. I think I need chocolate. I'm just…yeah, I'm okay."

"You're sure? Where's Casey? Aren't you supposed to watching Bonanza?"

"Oh, yeah, I guess...we were. It was the Adam marathon today."

AJ's look of concern grew. She knew Adam was my favorite—I'd been talking non-stop about the marathon for the whole week. To see me not excited about it, something must have been seriously wrong. She was about to say something, when Chuck's voice sounded.

"Good afternoon! Lovely day isn't it, a wonderful—no, not wonderful at all, terrible day. The world should just start over today, apparently…bad day?"

AJ half-shrugged, about to speak when 'Meet Me Halfway' began to play from her cell phone. She excused herself, saying the call couldn't wait. By the smile I caught, I had a feeling it was Morgan. I hoped Morgan would dump Anna—because he and AJ would make a better couple. Coming closer, Chuck gestured to the fountain.

"Do you want to sit and talk?"

I stopped pacing for a second, and nodded. Might as well not tire myself out. He looked to me expectantly, and I realized he also said 'talk,' not just 'sit'. Hell, darn. I opened my mouth to speak, and the first thing that came out was, "I'm not jealous."

He looked confused. "I didn't say you were…"

"—I mean, it's not like she has anything I don't have. I'm just as pretty as she is—who wants a stick figure like that anyway? Real men like curves."

"Um, I guess—"

"—And it's not like she's going to stick around! She'll be gone before we know it, I'll make sure of it. She may have gotten Sarah taken off the mission, but I have secret weapons, and if I have to use every connection in the whole CIA, I will. I can't stand having her here for much longer. She's such a bitch!"

"You talking about Alex—"

"That Forrest woman! Ugh, I hate her. She's like a forest all right; a forest full of thorn trees, overtaking what is an already perfect operation. Well she's picked the wrong girl to mess with. I don't know what she's thinking—treating me like I'm simply a gofer, a little minion whom she can boss around. Hell, without me, y'all wouldn't have managed all your missions—van work isn't always easy. And besides, I'm working in the field more often than not, nowadays. I don't know what John sees in her. Just because she shares the same ideas as him, it's like I'm not even there. She's just like the Queen Bee of those clichéd Hollywood teen movies—the one who always acts as if she's the cat's meow. Well I'll tell you this Chuck, if she thinks I'm just going to lie down and let her walk all over me, she's got another thing coming."

"Why would you—"

"I may not be some super-sexy spy stripper, but I've got ploys of my own. I'm _not _letting her stand in the way!"

"The way of what?"

I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. Shit. I really was on a roll with the blabbering today, huh? Um, divert! Crap, the way of what…good question, right? I couldn't exactly tell him she was getting in the way of John and me. Because there was nothing there. There wouldn't ever get to be, I guessed.

"Um, well, she's standing in the way of all of us doing our jobs. I mean, she got rid of Sarah. She's like a Nazi. A neo-Nazi. I don't know why John would like her so much then, because he's not a Nazi fan. And besides, she probably doesn't even like Reagan. Certainly not as much as John does."

Chuck just nodded, and I felt the fire leave me. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry—I know you're probably not…I shouldn't be ranting—you've got a lot going on too. How are you doing?"

He shrugged, and I threw an arm around him. "We're gonna get her back. Come hell or high water, we'll get her back."

"We can't do anything; she's already gone."

"Not true, Chuck. We'll talk to Beckman. She has to see reason."

"And if she doesn't?"

I looked down at the ground. I wasn't about to lose Sarah Walker on this project—we needed her as part of the team; Chuck needed her. And as much as she may not want to admit it, she needed Chuck too. When I spoke, I spoke with conviction, and I knew, if it came to it, I'd follow through.

"If Beckman doesn't listen, then I swear to you, I'll go to her superior. I'll keep goin' up the ranks until I find someone who'll listen. I swear by the pendent I wear—we _will _get Sarah Walker back."

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So...Beth is obviously a very confused individual right now. Have to admit-this was more of a transition chapter, they'll be more interaction between Beth and, well, everyone soon. :) Hope you enjoyed!


	17. Forrest Fire: Part Four

As you know, I don't Chuck & company-I only own Beth. Without further ado, I give you the next part of Forrest Fire!

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"Did y'all manage to get the bug implanted?"

"Is that the only thing anybody cares about anymore!"

I shook my head at Chuck. "No, it's not. Forrest was out of line tranqing Devon—we do _not_ shoot people ev'ry lil' whipstitch."

"Had to. Wouldn't do anything—was faithful to his fiancé."

"Good God." I raked a hand through my hair. It was way too early for this. I didn't stay up to wait for John to come back home last night—in all honesty, I was still mad at him. No, I wasn't mad. I was_ pissed_. He just stood back and _let_ that haint come in and stomp all over the operation. Chuck didn't _function_ without Sarah—he related well to feelings—and with Sarah gone, there was only one team member who did, excepting Chuck himself.

I was saved from any further replying by General Beckman interrupting with news about Ahmed's pacemaker. The bug was planted, everything was set. I listened in silence while Chuck tried to talk to Beckman to no avail before finally getting frustrated and plowing ahead.

"…You lied to me."

John put a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "C'mon it's just a job Chuck."

"No, for you it's a job. For me, it's my life."

Beckman was getting frustrated, I could tell. "We disclosed everything that was pertinent to you; that is how the National Security Agency operates." She then ended the call, and Alex muttered a snide "Get used to it" before proclaiming she was going to clean her weapons. I hope she shot herself. John looked like he was gonna follow—I had to act fast.

"Chuck? Would you mind if I had a word with John here, in private?"

"Sure, whatever, that's fine."

He started to go, and I called him back. I couldn't let him go with that despondency eating away at his heart; it just wasn't my nature.

"Chuck?" He waited for me to speak, and I tried to gather what words I thought would be most comforting.

"I know…I know it's real different. Sarah being gone and all. Please don't give up hope—there's a quote. Says hope is the last thing to die. I like to believe it's true. If you ever need someone to talk to…well, you know I'm here, right?"

I wanted to say so much more. I wanted to reiterate that we'd get Sarah back, and that if it took all my connections at the Farm and Langley, I'd get Forrest out of our operation. But I couldn't. Not with John there. Right now, I didn't trust him not to choose Forrest's side of things.

"Thanks Beth…I'll keep that in mind." With a wave, he was up the stairs and gone, and I readied myself for one _fun_ conversation with the Major. Not.

"He's right you know."

John grunted, and I continued. "About what he said. How maybe for us, it's a job, but not for him. Hell, it's his whole life. And he didn't get a choice in the matter. He can't wake up in the morning one of these days thinkin' 'ya know, I think I'm tired of being everyone's go-to guy—I just wanna be normal for a day'. That doesn't happen for him. His whole life was upturned because of this—and you helped take away the one part that made him even slightly sane on this mission."

"Can't do the job on feelings."

I shook my head. "That's where you're wrong. Maybe you can't—but Chuck can. It's the _only_ way he can. He's not been trained as a spy; he can't push away his emotions and live comfortably. He's a regular guy with regular emotions—that's how he relates. Do you really think he's going to deal well with Forrest Frenzy's totalitarian rule? He _can't_ function under those conditions!"

"You're here."

I sighed. He wasn't getting the point. "For how long?"

His face changed, and I knew I had his attention.

"Sarah was dismissed because of her interaction with Chuck. How long before Forrest Frenzy decides I'm too friendly to him? Besides, I'm only one woman. I can't protect him from a two-way assault featuring two by-the-book protocol people."

"You're valuable to the team."

"Maybe that's true. Maybe I add somethin'. But, unlike Chuck, I have a choice. I don't have to stay if I don't want to. And with the situation the way it is now, I won't stay long."

"You'd take yourself out in the middle of a mission?"

"Would you rather I stay in a place where I was unhappy and undermined at every turn?"

"I'd rather you stay…"

I…I didn't have a reply to that. Damn him. Causing me to be all confused. First he tries to kiss me, then he obviously appreciates Forrest's strip tease and agrees with her methods of getting the mission done, but then he's all but saying he wants me here….argh. He wasn't making any sense.

"…besides, you have a duty to your country."

Any twinge of sympathy towards him disappeared with those last words. It was my _duty?_ My duty to watch…oh hell no. I was tired of his 'duty first' attitude. I was tired of him being so this and that. Tired of it all. And I let it show.

"My _duty?_ Is it my duty to sit around and watch Chuck suffer? It's not my duty to just take everythin' lyin' down—I _won't_. I'll do my damnest to keep Chuck safe, whether that be from enemy spies, Fulcrum, Forrest, or even you, John Casey. Because 'mission first' isn't going to cut it—we're not playing some ultimate game of Risk—these are real people, this is real life. You _can't_ just put the mission above everything else, no matter if it's protocol or not! You can't tranq people because they don't cooperate with the plans you made, you can't just expect civilians, whether they're tied into the mission like Chuck or not, to unfailingly listen to you and all you say, expect them to sacrifice their life for so-called 'duty'. You can't just mess with people's lives like that!"

I paused, taking a breath—I needed to cool down, but I couldn't. My adrenaline was rushing, thought I was gonna punch something. John growled at me, and we had a bit of a standoff. I shook my head at him, turning around to head out of Castle.

"We're not done talking Beth."

I paused at the steps, turning around to face him. "Oh I think we are. Because I for one have a job to do, and I'm gonna do it. Why don't you just go clean your guns with _Alex_ again, since that's exactly where you wanted to go after Beckman's call was over. Go help her clean out her barrel or somethin', not like I give a damn."

I fled up the stairs quickly afterwards, still seething from, well, everything. From the way they were treating the mission to Sarah being dismissed to Forrest's total domineering ways. And John wasn't even helping. Well, 'nough of that. I wasn't gonna let it bother me. I'd only been in the yogurt shop about thirty minutes when my phone started buzzing. Looking at it, I saw John had texted me: something was wrong with Ahmed's pacemaker, which in turn meant something was wrong with the bug. Wonderful. It was just my day.

* * *

Alright, there you have it! One more part of Forrest Fire to go-which, for me, is quite exciting! I hope you enjoy reading!


	18. Forrest Fire: Part Five

Here it is! The last part of Forrest Fire! I've never been so excited-okay, that may be a slight stretch of the truth, but hey. I didn't actually know if I was gonna finish it tonight, seeing as typing with my left hand is a bit painful-the ice and me met for a painful tango-the ice won. Anyway, I only own Beth, as you know-everything else, not mine. Thank you so much to all the readers and reviewers out there!

Enjoy!

* * *

"I got nothing."

"Me neither."

Boy, those two were just 'bout as useful as tits on a boar. But, in this case, they were right. I'd checked and double-checked—there was no reason Ahmed's pacemaker and the bug should have stopped working. Unless they found out about it, which was a pretty slim chance. Not impossible, but slim.

"Hate to break it to y'all, but I don't think we're gonna find anything. I've looked at it from every angle; the only reason it could have stopped working is if they'd found the bug."

Forrest rolled her eyes. "Impossible. There's no way they could have found the bug."

"Nothing is impossible—only improbable. I'd love for you to give me some info that counters my statement, but…you don't have any, do you? Didn't think so."

Before she could reply and we could get into yet another verbal sparring match, Sarah showed up on the security feeds.

"Beth, Casey, I-I can't get in, I don't have access."

Forrest didn't even look back as she said, "She's off the assignment."

I shot a glare at her since she was standing next to me, and looked up at Sarah on the feed. "Look, I think Chuck's in trouble." She held up his phone, and I was inclined to agree with her.

"Sarah's right—he never goes anywhere without that cell phone of his."

John moved to stand between Forrest and myself, addressing Forrest. "They're right." While I busied myself checking over the facts for the thousandth time, I listened to John with a small smile.

"Now Forrest, what I was gonna say earlier, I disagree with your assessment."

"Bout what?"

" Walker. She's a pro. Not only that, but she's the best damn partner I ever had."

And with those words, he pushed the button to let Sarah in. I could hug him I was so happy; he was _finally_ stepping up. Sarah and Forrest had their own bit of a spat—I distinctively heard Sarah tell Forrest that since she was technically fired, there was nothing stopping her from kicking the other gal's ass. I'd say that's a point for Sarah. John and I were both standing back while Sarah scanned the surveillance feeds, so I took the time to stand on my tiptoes, whispering so only he could hear, "Good words, Colonel. 'Bout time you stepped up to the plate."

I stepped away before he could reply, just in time to hear Alex say that Chuck was in the courtyard, and for Sarah to pull up the video, showing Chuck's watch at the bottom of the fountain, and no Chuck in sight.

Well shit, this wasn't good.

"We lost the surveillance signal from Ahmed's heart, gotta be a connection between the signals disappearance and Chuck's."

While John and Sarah talked out where Chuck might have gone, I headed to the back to grab some supplies—namely, firepower. Looks like we were going hunting.

Turns out they'd taken Chuck to a bank vault. We went in guns a'blazin', Forrest and myself leading the way with John and Sarah keeping to the rear. By the time we got to the bottom of the steps, they had managed to get the bank vault shut and locked. Hells bells.

Sarah turned towards Forrest, the anger evident in her tone and stance. "Now Chuck is locked inside with one of Interpol's most wanted; it is _your_ job to protect him, dammit."

"I've got nitroglycerin and a blasting cap in the van; I'll have this door off in no time."

Before Forrest could take another step, I dodged in front of her. "No way am I lettin' you pass, Forrest. There's a nitric setup in there; sides, I don't rightly trust you with explosives."

Voice laced with frustration, Sarah said, "You're gonna blast the door open and kill Chuck in the process."

She started examining the vault, trying to find a way to crack its code. After a moment, Forrest asked, "What makes you think he isn't already dead?"

"You underestimate him, Forrest. He may just be an 'asset'. He may be a simple Nerd Herder, just your average 'Joe' but he's stronger than you take him for. He's smart—he's gonna make it out alive. Now if you shut up with the snide remarks, we can maybe get to crackin' this code. Sarah, what do ya need me to do?"

She put me to work working on some wires for her while she did the main job of connecting up a listening device and such. It really was a one-woman job. After hearing Chuck laughing with Zmir, and then getting the whereabouts of Khalid, everyone was getting a bit frustrated with the situation—especially Forrest. Kinda made me laugh a bit, actually, if it weren't for the fact I was worried for Chuck.

"That's it, I can't risk this going father; I'm going to get the nitro."

"Forrest, we can do it your way, or we can actually save the asset." The combination beeped, and after a couple more clicks and turns, the vault unlocked. Opening it, we saw Chuck and Zmir more than just a bit loopy from the gas. John took Zmir out of the room, and I backed off towards Forrest in order to let Chuck and Sarah have their private moment.

"Forrest."

"Daniels."

"It's no secret I don't like you. You know it, I know it; hell, half of Cali oughta know it by now. You think I'm too emotional, and I think you're a cold-hearted bitch."

"Do I?"

"Don't play coy, it doesn't suit you. I know what you're doing here—what's been happening. You think you can waltz in here, in this operation, and just take over? Look at that, Chuck and Sarah. Really _look_ at them. Yes, they have feelings for each other. But in the end of the day, who saved him? It wasn't you, with your explosives and your trigger happy self. No, it was Sarah. And she saved him without anyone else getting hurt. If I recall, he wouldn't even listen to you."

"What's your point, Daniels?"

I turned so I could face her. "My _point_, Forrest, is I want you off this mission. And it will happen. If I have to call in every favor from here to Langley, I will. You're not suited for asset work—you may be a fine agent, but the only thing you've brought with you since you've arrived is problems. And I'm not havin' them. So here this: At the end of this mission, after our conference with Beckman, if you're still assigned to this case, you're going to resign from it."

"Why? Major Casey didn't seem to have a problem with me there."

"Maybe so, but he didn't have a problem when you were not here either. You heard me, and you should know by now, I don't pull punches."

"Oh I know _all_ about you, Daniels. Your training at the farm, your undercover assignment which ended up with a botched operation resulting in the death of your team. How's it feel, knowing you single-handedly caused the _murder _of—"

"—You fuckin'—"

"—No, Beth!"

I lunged toward Forrest, my fist already halfway to her face when I felt two arms pull me back. I fought against them; they were John's, I knew, and that was fine and all, but really, I just wanted to punch Forrest out. She had no right…she…that piece of—

"Beth, stop fighting."

"Let me _go_!"

His voice was a whisper, but it caused me to stop fighting. "I'll take care of it, now _stop_."

I relaxed slightly, but kept my hands in fists, precautionary detail. John loosened his hands, but not before he asked me, "Gonna behave?"

"Only if she does," was my reply, and it must have suited him because he let go of me and turned his attention to Forrest. He made a menacing sight, his eyes narrowed and his mouth set in a scowl.

"You've done a decent job here, Forrest. Worked the case, caught a terrorist. Good mission results. I respect that. But if you _ever_ insinuate that it was Beth's fault her former team was killed, I will personally see to it that you never get another mission again. Your reputation, your career will be torn to shreds. _Do_ I make myself clear?"

"You don't fall under my jurisdiction, Major. You don't have the power to access my career."

He stepped closer to Forrest, so that they were toe-to-toe. "I don't have to fall under your jurisdiction. Let me make this simple for you—threaten or continue to antagonize Beth, and I'll break every bone in your body, _so_ you can never go on another mission again."

"You'd hit a lady?"

He scoffed. "You're no lady."

"Why the threat? Why's she so important to you?"

"She's part of my team, she's my roommate, and she's a damn fine woman. She's compassionate, gentle, loyal—and protective; a fine CIA agent. To imply she is anything but is an insult, not only to her, but to her team, both present and past."

Forrest didn't answer; she sidestepped him and headed out towards the van. I was looking at John with shock—he'd never actually defended me like that before, and I was kinda, well, I wasn't expecting it.

"What?" he said gruffly.

I shrugged. "Nothing. Just…thank you. That was real sweet of you back there. Even if ya did keep me from beatin' the holy hell outta her."

"She had no right to say what she did. It _wasn't_ your fault."

I nodded, and he didn't say anything else as we headed up to the van. Well…that mission sure was exciting. And confusing. I'd be glad once the mission debriefing was over and I could go home.

"Wait, general, I'm sorry, isn't the most important part of being my handler keeping me safe?

"It's okay Chuck…"

"No, it's not. Let him finish."

I looked over at John—that was my man. Er, not that he was _mine_. Chuck nodded, and told the General why he thought Sarah on the team wasn't a liability. I had to mentally cheer; I'm glad he was allowed to say something. After listening to Chuck, Beckman paused for a minute, thinking.

"Agent Forrest diagnosed your emotional connection as a liability...but I suppose it can also be an asset to the, well, asset. You may resume your post Agent Walker. We hope not to see you too soon, Agent Forrest. That's all."

The conference ended, and I had to control myself not to jump up and down like a fool. She was gone; Sarah was back, and John was…well, back to being John. Sure, things weren't probably going to stay great long; give it a week, there'd be another mission, or John and I'd get into another argument (last time it was about apples. Of all the things we could argue about—we get into an argument about what type of apples to buy). Still, life was back to the way it should be. Forrest grabbed her things, and without so much as a by-your-leave, she took off up the stairs. Chuck and Sarah headed out after that, and I took my time gathering up my bags. I wanted to relax, regain some of the peace that I'd missed while Forrest was…

"Hustle up Tulip."

"Where's the fire?"

"Your show's still on—we head out now, we'll make it in time for at least one of your episodes. Not like it matters, you have them on DVD anyway."

I grinned, jogging up the stairs to join John. "Not just any show; the second longest running western—"

"—So you've told me. Now we leaving or not?"

"Oh, don't get your bullets in a bunch. We're goin'. You really should be nicer to me—you're blessed to have such a wonderful roommate, kind, caring, courteous to all…"

"You're pushin' it Tulip."

"Right, and a'shuttin' up I go. Now put the pedal to the metal—if we drive fast, we'll make it for the whole episode!"

An eye roll later, John was grumbling about the woes of past-their-prime television. Yep, everything was back to normal.

* * *

There it is! I really hope you like it! Let me know whatcha think by reviewing. I love it when y'all do-reviews make my day!


	19. Beth versus the Bridesmaid Dress

Well here it is-the next chapter! We're fast approaching Ellie's wedding, which is excited! The wedding will be covered in Chuck versus the Chuckless Summer: Beth & AJ-it's gonna be a long one, I can tell you. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing-it's really great y'all have kept with the story, makes me smile that you're enjoying it as much as I enjoy writing it. Nothing else really to say, except

Enjoy!

False, one more thing to say: If you haven't seen or heard the song I See The Light from Disney's Tangled, you should really listen to it, because it's beautiful and amazing...and has Zach Levi singing, so really, you can't get any better than that. Okay, now that's all. :)

* * *

"Would you hold still?"

"Don't wanna…argh!" I winced as I was stabbed with another pen. "I realize my skin already has its fair share of scars, but can you limit the puncture wounds? You may deflate parts of me."

AJ yelled from the kitchen where she was beginning to make lunch. "Beth, I don't think your 'parts' would be deflated so easily."

I laughed, and then jumped as another pin entered my skin. "Damnit Sarah! What're you trying to do, make me a pincushion?"

She shrugged her shoulders apologetically. "Sorry."

"Humph, sure you are. Why don't I get to pin your dress for you again?"

"Because I already had it done—I didn't wait till the last minute."

"Umm…well hush. I would've done it sooner, but I mean, did you see the dress? It's atrocious!"

Poking her head through the partition, AJ shrugged. "Least you don't look like midget Barbie!"

"No, I look like Redneck Barbie. People with my hair shouldn't wear dresses in this shade."

I started a dress argument with AJ, while intermittently being stabbed by Sarah. The conversation had turned from the color of the dresses to their incredibly frilly nature when I heard, "Whose 50th Birthday lawn ornament are you going to be?"

I turned and glared at John, who'd just got off his shift at the Buymore.

"Bite me—ow, sonofamonkey! Sarah!" I glared between the two of them, uncertain which I should yell at first. Both seemed like a good idea.

"For your information, John, I am not a lawn decoration. This 'lovely' thing is my bridesmaid dress for Ellie's wedding. Yes, it is hideous, frilly, and clashes with my hair; not much I can do with that."

Before Sarah could stick another pin in me, I jumped back. "And _you! _No more pins till you learn the difference between pink and peach—at this rate, I'll have no more skin on my back, legs, or the like!"

Throwing her hands up in exasperation, she joined AJ in preparing the Italian food which she had started cooking. "Fine, but you don't get to eat until your dress is pinned."

"No! That's mean! I didn't mean it Sarah—please help me. I'm hungry."

My pleading fell on deaf ears, and I turned my eyes to John. "Hey wonderful roommate of mine. Wanna help a girl out?"

"Nope."

"No? You can't say no! I'm desperate. Not that I'm only going to you because I'm desperate. I…please?"

"Why?"

"Cause I'm hungry! And Sarah's mean! And I want out of this dress. I'll do anything!"

He raised an eyebrow and I blushed, quickly speaking to correct myself. "Anything within reason. All you have to do is pin the dress so I can alter it later. Pretty please?"

"You'll do anything?"

"Yes! Well…mostly anything. I mean, within reason. Well…"

"Too late, Tulip, you already agreed. Stand on the coffee table, back straight; don't slouch."

My eyes rose at his militant orders. "Yes sir!" I hopped up and saluted him with military rigidity, then grinned. I was facing the kitchen and could smell the spaghetti cooking. I took a deep breath. Mmm…so hungry! Breakfast was long past…

"Stop fidgeting."

"Huh?"

"You're swaying toward the food. Makes you off balance. Don't."

"Oh." I couldn't see what John was doing from where I was standing, and wondered if he was as serious as he sounded; or if he was rather laughing silently to himself.

AJ and Sarah were watching from the kitchen and I fought to control my laughter as they mimicked John and me's conversation. But it was gonna be real hard. AJ, acting as John, mouthed 'anything' and made a couple suggestive movements; I had to physically bite my finger to stop from laughing.

"Step down and…"

"A-wha?"

"You hem is pinned. Turn around so I can get your back."

"Wow…I didn't feel a thing!"

"You're not supposed to."

"Tell that to 'Ms. Make-me-a-pincushion'."

I glanced up to see John…slightly smiling. By slightly, I mean his eyes smiled—the rest of him remained stoic as always.

He went around behind me and I tensed up. Not that I didn't trust him. I didn't trust myself. I mean, I wasn't gonna jump his bones…I felt my face flush at the thought. But I couldn't be trusted to not steal an extra touch or such. I momentarily froze when I felt John's calloused hands brush against my bare shoulders. He had really…hot hands. I shivered and John's hand stilled.

Okay heart; please don't burst out of my chest. I can handle this; strictly professional, completely normal…whoa! Professional went away in less than two point five seconds, as John's hand slipped into the back of my dress. Oh hell's bells! He leaned around me, his hand still in the dress. I…what was he doing? With the way he was wrapped around me, if I turned my head to the right, our lips would meet. Oh snap. I glanced at him to realize he was grabbing more pins.

Deep breathe. Oh—I clasped my hands in front of me and found, to my surprise, my hands were shaking. That's weird. Why were they shaking? Granted, he took me by surprise, but I shouldn't have been so scared that I was physically moving. Then again, maybe it wasn't that kind of shaking…maybe it was something else. Or…oh! Who was I kidding? Why was I driving myself crazy over this?

"Nice view, Beth. Do you always show off your goods?"

"What!" I glanced down quickly and was ready to throttle him. That liar! I expected to find my dress had slipped down, but I was safely covered.

"You—that was so not true!"

"No, but it got you to stop holding your breath, didn't it?"

"I…I was holding by breath?"

He stuck a few more pins in as he answered. "As if you were about to take a plunge into the river."

"Was not!"

Another eye raised had me shrugging my shoulders. "Okay…maybe I was. What are you gonna have me agree to do, anyway?"

"I'll let you know when you have to do it."

"Are you saying you're not gonna tell me?"

He grunted and I gave him a look. "Oh c'mon! Tell me already!"

"Nope."

"Stubborn."

"Persistent."

"Argh, you…man!"

"Woman."

"Very astute. I am a woman. When did you figure that one out?"

After a lingering gaze that had me wishing I hadn't stated my last comment, he answered.

"I don't think it's possible for anyone to mistake you for anything but a woman."

I decided to accept the fact right then and there that my hair would permanently match my pallor—if I turned any redder, a new color would be invented.

I was saved from having to reply by the shouts of AJ and Sarah in the other room. From the window, I saw Sarah chopping up the vegetables by tossing them in the air, then slicing down on them, with AJ cheering her on. I mentally sighed; Sarah may never admit it, but she was just as dorky as the rest of us.

I then felt John's breath next to my temple, his voice low and gruff. "You can take the dress off now."

Whatever my mind had been thinking, that was probably the wrong thing to say. I swiveled quickly, reaching out to John in an effort to retain my balance. "Pardon?"

"The dress. It's done. Unless you want to wear it for lunch?"

"Oh! Right. Of course. Um…thank you."

He grunted and walked towards his room while I headed towards mine to change. Once there, I realized a predicament. I was…pinned in. Well, the pins weren't a problem so much as the zipper was. Oh fudge. I could easily ask Sarah or AJ but…

"Having problems?"

"Oh, hi John. Umm…" For some reason, I felt really foolish. I mean, it was just a dress, for Heaven's light. "Could you, um… help?"

He stepped into my room, and I turned so he could reach the zipper. Once again, John's hands were upon my back, and I felt that jolt like last time. Y'know heart, I wish you'd stop that. There's no way _that_ is happening.

_How can you be so sure? _What? Who are you? _One who speaks the truth. And you're a liar._ Am not! _Are too. And we're not having this conversation. Just accept that you find John Casey one extremely handsome specimen, and move on with life. _Ugh, why am I listening to you? This is one sign of being crazy.

I actively put the voice outta my mind only to decide I should've kept talking to the voice. Because now I was intimately aware that John's hands were deftly unzipping the dress. I wondered how many times his hands had done a similar move on other women. He had rough hands, but they were gentle.

When he came to the end of the zipper, his hand stayed there for a spilt second. Or maybe I imagined it. I couldn't be sure. The room was silent; it felt like we were waiting for something. What that something was, I wasn't sure.

Quickly, his hands left my back, and I turned to thank him, but he had already gone. Well…that was odd. I slipped into a sundress (since it was easiest to put on) and headed out for lunch. Grabbing a plate of food, I sat at the table, Sarah and AJ on the opposite side. Seemed to me like they were interrogators' in a case. And I was their witness. After letting me take a couple bites of delicious food, the questioning began.

"So, Beth…or should I call you Tulip?"  
AJ raised an eyebrow. "Yeah! What was up with that? And why'd Casey jet outta here like there was a new weapons-con at the corner store?"

I shrugged. "Umm, well, long story. It's of no importance. And…huh? What do you mean? Last I knew he was…"

"He was what? You disappeared, then he disappeared….just _what_ were you two doing in the back bedroom?"

I glared at AJ, quite aware my face was flushing. "We did nothing of _that sort_, if that's what you're thinking! He simply…unzipped my dress for me. Because I couldn't do it myself."

It was Sarah's turn to take over the interrogation. "And you couldn't have one of us unzipped it?"

"I...um, well, I could have. But you two were eating. And that would have required me to backtrack. And…and—it's not like I _asked _him! He showed up at my door, not the other way around!"

At that, both Sarah and AJ looked at me with something akin to shock and puzzlement.

"Casey did what?"

"Are we talking about the same Casey? The Casey who bludgeoned some poor shoplifter with an apple the other day? That Casey?"

"Yes, that Casey! Are you happy now? And before you ask, no, nothing happened. Yes, he did take me by surprise. And I'm not sure what he thought of the whole situation, but I'm sure he still thinks of me as his eccentric roommate and fellow spy."

AJ patted me on the shoulder. "He's a man; my guess is he was thinking about you naked."

"Was that supposed to comfort me? Because…it didn't."

Sarah stared at me, absently gnawing on a half-eaten breadstick. She looked as if she was thinking rather hard about something.

"Doubloon for your thoughts Sarah?"

"Well, it explains it."

"What explains what?"

"Casey leaving. Beth…stirred him up."

At the comment, I covered my mouth in an effort to not spew the spaghetti I'd been eating, and AJ knocked over her glass of limeade.

"Pardon!" "What!"

"Stirred him up. Riled him. Ruffled his feathers. Making sense yet?"

Shaking my head emphatically, I disagreed. "Nope, not making sense. I cannot _believe_ you just said that! John doesn't think of, no, just…no!"

"What Sarah says makes sense. Why else would he practically fly out of the house?"

"First, John doesn't 'fly'. And he could have easily fled the house because was surrounded by the estrogen ocean."

Both turned towards me, their faces saying they didn't believe a word I said. I shrugged, and took another bite, hoping they wouldn't ask any more questions so I could think. Because the silence, I desperately needed.

Okay voice, I admit it. To you, to myself. I had feelings for John Casey. I don't know when they started. Maybe I knew that night he found out about my scar; maybe it was between the laughter and stories when we were going through my old photographs. Somewhere between the growls and blunt cynicism, I fell in love. Or at least very deep like. But nothing could ever happen. He didn't have feelings for me; he _couldn't._

"So…are you going to explain the Tulip story?"

After the mental anguish they'd put me through? I think not. I pulled a John Casey and merely grunted.

"Oh c'mon! If you don't tell us, we'll be forced to make up a story for ourselves…"

"…Which is guaranteed to be less accurate and embellished with 'details' we have to assume occurred."

I growled. They really were infuriating. I don't know why I keep them around. "Alright, I'll make you a deal. I'll tell you why he calls me Tulip, but only on two conditions."

Sarah looked skeptical. "What are the conditions?"

"Well, for one, you can't interrupt when I'm telling the story."

Sarah nodded. "Well that sounds easy enough."

"And the second?" AJ questioned.

"You can't mention it to John."

"Why not?"

"Because. Those are the conditions; take 'em or leave 'em."

The girls sighed. "Yeah, alright." "Just get on with the story!"

"Fine, fine. Okay, the short version is John calls me tulip because of my necklace." At their faces, I had to laugh. "Calm down, you're going to get the long story, I just wanted to give you an overview. It happened one day, I said something—I think we were talking about if he would be alright if we held the girl's night at our apartment, and he up and goes, 'Not gonna happen Tulip.' Naturally, I gave him this look, and go, 'Tulip?' He grunts and nods his head, and I'm left wondering if being called Tulip is a good or bad thing. But I drop the subject because it was clear he wasn't gonna say anything.

Well, later that night, I decide to bring it up again. Because I was really curious as to why I was a tulip. We were watching 'Stallion Road' because John had never watched it, and I figured he'd like it, as he's a Reagan fan. Well, we had just gotten to a good point in the movie, when I paused it, and told him that in order to see the rest of the movie, he was gonna have to explain why the heck I was a tulip. He growled, but I didn't back down. I scooted to the other side of the couch and held the remote outta reach. So he's looking at me, trying to decide whether he's gonna tell me or just attack me and steal the remote back, and he finally goes, 'Your pendent is a tulip. And the flower fits you.' I asked him to elaborate, and he did, telling me that the tulip was a symbol of passion and…"

"And?"

Sarah glared at AJ. "We weren't supposed to interrupt, remember?"

"But she can't leave the story there!"  
"She won't." Turning to me, Sarah glared. "Will you?"

"Well, I'm half-tempted to, because you interrupted me." Their collective angry faces worsened, and I quickly continued, "But I will, because you asked so nicely. He…" I started and stopped again. Damnit. Leave it to me to get myself in a pickle. How much to tell…how much was too much? I knew I could trust their word they wouldn't say anything to John, but if one of them mentioned something to Chuck or Morgan, and they in turned mentioned it to John…I'd be screwed.

"Well, he told me white tulips illustrate forgiveness, yellow tulips symbolize cheerful thoughts, which fit with me. And tulip bouquets symbolize elegance and grace. Variant tulips…symbolize beautiful eyes. That's what he said. Well, give or take a few words. In any case, he said that they were traditionally the first flowers of spring, bringing joy and new life. And he told me that the facts combined together suited making 'Tulip' my nickname."

That was the story…more or less. Sure, it ended up with more conversation about my scar, and how the bringing new joy and life could symbolize me making a fresh start now that I'm starting to get past Jamie's death, but considering Sarah and AJ knew nothing about my scar (and I was gonna keep it that way), I couldn't exactly tell them all the close details. Nor would I tell them the next morning after, I awoke to a bouquet of white, yellow, and yellow/red tulips by my bedside…they could be tempted to read into that. I glanced at their faces. And…well, they were pretty priceless.

"He gave you a nickname."

I looked at AJ with confusion. "Yes…"

"He never gives anyone a nickname. Maybe 'moron' or 'numb nuts' in some instances, but those aren't the kinds of nicknames you'd want."

Sarah chimed in. "You should just accept it, Beth. Casey has the hots for you."

I gave an exasperated sigh. "Listen to me, you two. He. Does. Not. There's no 'hey baby' come-ons coming from him anytime soon. Trust me. I'm not his type of girl. Even if I wanted to be."

"And do you wanna be?"

Shit! Didn't mean to let that slip. "I-I…"

"You do!" "Dios mio!"

I stared at them, unwilling to speak. That's how I got myself in this mess in the first place. I stared down at my food, determined not to speak. Nope, wasn't gonna say a word. I wouldn't spill the beans. Wouldn't—

"How much you wanna bet ole' Casey thinks about Beth…in the shower?"

I looked up to glare at AJ. "Don't."

Sarah chimed in, an evil grin set in place. "Oh I wouldn't doubt it. Hey Beth, ever wondered why Casey's showers are so long?"

"Stop!"

Both looked at me with slightly shocked expressions. My own face felt hot, from a combination of exasperation, anger, and embarrassment. No way in heaven _or_ hell did I want to hear any more thoughts about…well, like that. Nope. Was waiting till marriage, and although I knew that _that_ happened, I personally did not want to hear about it. Plus, it was John. I mean, I lived in the same house with him. We shared the bathroom. Oh fudge. We shared the bathroom.

"Great. Thanks guys, I'm never going to be able to think of our bathroom the same way again. But that's not the main point. Look, I maybe have a teeny, tiny, majorly itty bitty _miniscule_ crush on the man. Because he is attractive. And desirable. _But_ nothing could ever come of it, because he doesn't feel that way about me. And he couldn't. Besides, even if he did, nothing would come of it. Because I'm not some 'wham bam thank you ma'am' type of girl, and he's not the marrying kind. So it's better not even to look into it, to suggest it, to even dream of it because it's _never_ gonna happen. So I'd appreciate if we can just drop the subject here, okay?"

The two were quiet for a second, and AJ finally shook her head. "You're so deep in denial, you're practically in Tibet. Give it up, already. You're in amor, mi amiga."

I sighed, brushing back a piece of hair from my face. "AJ, I'm not in—"

"You're _still_ here? Walker, don't you have some knives to sharpen? And Abbott, your shift starts in 15."

I glanced in the doorway where John stood. Just how much had he heard? If he'd been standing there to hear me spill my worries to AJ and Sarah…that wouldn't be good. All three of us were giving him mirrored looks of puzzlement. None of us spoke. Rolling his eyes, he pointed to Sarah and AJ, then gestured to the door. "You two, _out._" He turned to me. "Pack an overnight bag. We're going for a drive."

My eyes widened, and I looked at the girls, wondering if they too were wondering what the heck was happening. They both waved and said their goodbyes, AJ giving me a wink before heading out, while Sarah wiggled her eyebrows suggestively. I swear…juveniles. John was still standing at the doorway, tapping his foot impatiently.

"Well?"

"—What? You were being serious?"

He gave me a 'don't-question-me' look, and I shrugged my shoulders, heading to my bedroom to pack some things. I probably shouldn't question him. But…just what was he thinking? And where were we even going? I…in most cases, I wouldn't even listen to him, but it was John. I mean, he may be stoic and brash and gruff, but I trusted him. Though, any situation which deals with needing an overnight bag called for some skepticism. Not to mention, it _was_ with John.

Oh damn. It was with John. There was no way I'd survive an overnight trip. Who knew how long the car ride would be, if we were even taking car. I mean, I may have told AJ and Sarah that it was only a tiny crush, but I think my heart may feel a little differently. Considering just being around him made my heart beat fast, and my breath to leave me. What if we stayed overnight and got a hotel room? I mean, it would have two beds, but still…that'd be closer to John than I ever really had been. And one bathroom…I blushed at the thought. Well, guess I'd better pack my good pajamas; I didn't wanna be caught waltzing around in my worn-out flannels. John would be in…oh snap. I didn't know what John wore to bed. Or _if_ he wore anything to bed. Maybe he slept commando.

Holy hell. I was _so _screwed.

* * *

So, looks like John and Beth are goin' on a lil' trip-wonder what's gonna happen then?


	20. Stars and Stripes: Part One

Hi all! I won't take up most of your time by writing a whole bunch up here; I only wanna say a **Huge thank you** to all the readers, and all the reviewers. I appreciate you taking the time to tell me what you think, and love hearin' from you. If you have any suggestions/things you'd like to see, don't hesitate to say somethin'. Granted, I may not always do it, but I'll definately think about it. :) This next part is gonna be posted in five parts, so...hopefully you enjoy!

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Soon enough, both packed bags (John's nondescript black and my fluorescent orange one) were tucked into the back of his Crown Vic and we were headed southwest. I kept glancing over at him, wondering what he was thinking.

"John?"

"Mm?"

"Where are we going?"

A grunt #3 confirmed what I already knew: he wasn't going to tell me. We passed about twenty minutes in silence. It was peaceful. For awhile. But I got bored.

"Wanna play the alphabet game?"

"…"

At his silence, I rolled my eyes. "C'mon, you can't tell me you don't know what the alphabet game is! ...Do you know what the alphabet game is?"

"No."

I shook my head, all the while explaining the game.

"…and then you go all the way through the alphabet. But you can't use the same word twice. It'd make the game too easy."

"Sounds stupid."

"It's not, it's fun! C'mon, please! Least you can do—you are practically kidnapping me."

He paused for a moment and then, "Auto."

"Wha...hey! You cheated. You didn't say we were play—"

"Bus."

I sighed, annoyed. "Oh, would you stop. You're totally"

"—Are you going to play or complain?"

"Fine. And."

"Comfort, diner, east."

I looked around on the busy highway, glancing to and fro. Where was he getting these words? Finally, I spotted a 'B'. "Buns!"

"Been waiting to use that one?"

I reached over and tapped him on the back of the head. "Oh yeah, I've been waiting all day to talk about my buns."

At his raised eyebrow, I buried my head in my hands. ""That wasn't what I wanted to say…oh look! Car!"

He chuckled, and we played the game till we got towards the end of the alphabet. Both of us were stuck on 'u'.

"So…"

"Don't distract me." Humph, says the man who didn't even want to play. Talk about a switch.

"I'm not distracting you. I'm calling a truce until we hit a stretch of road filled with more signs. Do you accept?"

"Mm."

"Okay, I'm taking that as a yes. You're still not going to tell me where we're going, are you?"

"No."

"Can I ask why?"

"Can't you accept a surprise?"

"Well…can't you just give me a little hint? It's all I'm asking for."

He sighed, and I figured he wasn't used to someone being so persistent. "We're going down the coast. To the beach."

"See, that wasn't too hard, was it?"

"Hmph."

I laughed at him, and reached around to grab my CDs from the back. Hmm…Tim McGraw…not now, Sugarland was always good, but I wasn't in the mood for their music…oh! I allowed a slightly evil grin as I put in a yellow CD with the words "Shake Those Hips" scrawled in purple. The music soon began to play, and I glanced over to watch John's features as the first song played:

_"Slow motion, blinds are see-through, let your mind go, imagine that I kiss you, turn off the lights and open up your eyes now…"_

His eyebrows rose, face becoming a mixture of puzzlement and slight disgust. "We're _not_ listening to this crap."

"John! It's not crap; it's Shakira. Enjoy it—'sides, you can shake your hips to music like this—it's great!"

"I don't 'shake my hips'. Turn it off."

"Well I should hope you don't shake your hips; I'd be a little concerned about your masculinity. But I do, shake my hips that is. It's quite fun; 'sides, the song's appropriate—it's called 'Spy'. And it's not getting' turned off, so stop being a grumpy bear and enjoy it."

He glanced over, and I could have sworn his eyes roved my body, pausing momentarily at my hips. But I couldn't be sure—I mean, my hips were nothing special. Yes, they were wider hips—what Mom always called 'child-bearing' hips. So nice of her to inform me of that. But still, not that great. My hips, not my Mom. She was pretty great, even if we did butt heads constantly. Why was I thinking of my mother on a trip with John. Good God, I was going insane.

I started singing to the song, dancing in my seat (as much as I could) and heard John grunt amusedly.

"What are you smirk-scoffing about? Hm, would that be a smoff? But, that's beside the point—what's got you chuckling?"

"Just enjoying it."

"The song?"

He momentarily glanced at me again before looking at the road, eyes glinting. "No, your hips."

My jaw dropped and for once, I couldn't answer—well, I could, but I had no reply. He kept this up, and it was going to be one extremely long remainder of the drive. No worries though, I could handle it. Hmm…I needed something to talk about. Because this trip was going to be killer if we sat in silence the whole time. Because I liked to talk. And he…well, John wasn't much of a talker, more the 'strong, silent' type, but, he'd talk. Maybe he'd talk. Well, I'd talk, even if he didn't.

"Hey John?"

"Mm?"

"I've never actually been to the beach before."

"Never?"

"No…I mean, not the ocean. Went often enough to the lake when I was younger—Dale Hollow's pretty big, so I know what it's like to be surrounded by water. But I could always see the shore. The ocean…well, there's no shore."

"Dale Hallow?"

"Mhm. Big ole' lake back home. It's one of the main boating areas in the Midwest. Really gorgeous—has great places to water-ski. I remember this one time, I was about fourteen at the time—I remember because it was the first time I could actually fill out a two piece decently well , and—sorry, I started to ramble, didn't I?"

"And what?"

"Huh?"

"The story. And what?"

"Oh! Well, the boys were gonna go boating for the weekend, but Daddy said he had to stay at the farm, and Mom wasn't gonna go without Dad, so after much begging and pleading, I convinced the boys to let me come along."

"They let you go without proper supervision?"

"Aw, the boys wouldn't let nothin' happen to me. Tony gets pretty protective—he'd a kicked hide if he had to."

"Wasn't referring to strangers hurting you."

"No? But then…oh! You mean, you thought—the boys. Recipe for disaster because I was the only girl?"

He nodded, and I laughed outright. "No worries there—the boys knew if anything happened to me or if anyone of them tried to touch me in any…wrong…fashion, or without my consent, Daddy'd shoot first and ask questions later. He may seem like an easygoin' fella, but you don't mess with his girls—he warned the hands when they started on that he had no qualms 'bout showin' them exactly what would happen if something happened to me. And after the…well, they knew he wasn't joking."

"After what?"

"Just…nothing, just, never mind—it was a long time ago and it doesn't really—"

"—_Beth._"

Me and my big mouth. I looked down at my hands, trying to decide what to tell him and what not to. I couldn't get away with glancing over the subject, I knew that; might as well tell the truth. "Well, it wasn't a big deal, I mean; Daddy took care of the situation. It was when I was nine. I was out in the barn tendin' to Ares—he was this big black horse he had; he could be a wild thing, but he was always gentle with me—my horse, I always said, even though Daddy had bought him for his self. Anyway, I was out in the barn, and one of the new hands—he was this man, in his 20's. Never could remember features as well except for his eyes—they were cold. Grey and cold as ice. Well, he tried to get a little…fresh with me."

I heard John growl and quickly continued. "He didn't really do anything—I mean, it's not like he raped me or anything. He just…tried to touch. I didn't know what was going on, I was too young. All I knew was that the man was acting nice one second, asking about Ares, and the next he was pullin' me to him. I froze, I didn't even scream. I didn't know what to do. Thank God Darryl walked in when he did; Darryl was one of the hands at the time—he got his own farm 'couple years back, married his high school sweetheart—now they live at the next farm over. Well, Darryl saw what was happenin', yelled for Dad—they both had just come back from fencin'. Darryl told Glen—that was the man's name—to let me go. But he didn't at first. Well, 'til Daddy walked in. He took one look at the situation, walked right up, threw a punch. Broke the man's nose. Glen loosened his hold and I ran to Darryl. He took me to Mom—I wasn't hurt; just real shaken up."

"Your dad only threw one punch?" He sounded disappointed—and angry. The former for the punch; the latter I chalked up to the entire situation.

"No, one punch is all I saw. Turns out Dad beat the holy hell out of him—cracked a couple ribs and gave him some bruises that he wasn't gonna forget anytime soon. Mom called the sheriff."

"Scumbag go to jail?"

"Well…not exactly. Man tried to threaten battery charges; Mom wanted him arrested for child molestation, but because of the whole situation, neither got their way. Sheriff asked if they wanted him carted off the property, and Daddy slowly shook his head. I remember what he said—I was out there cause the sheriff wanted my side of the story. Daddy sized Glen up, put his hand on the spot where he always carried his pistol, tapped it a couple times, and spoke. He said, "Nah, Sheriff, I think me and the boy here have an understandin'. He's gonna collect the rest of his pay, and then he's gonna leave. And if I ever see him on the property again, I'll be sure to shoot first, ask questions later." Spoke just that, sure as the world. Sheriff nodded, turned to Glen and asked if they'd be havin' any problems. One look at Daddy's gun, and he was shakin' his head. He left that night, never came back."

"Bastard should have gone to jail. Shouldn't have tried to take advantage of you. How bad?"

"Maybe he should have—but no real harm was done. Just a bit of fright. And it wasn't…I mean, it was only…touchin,"

"You're skirting around the subject. What did he do?"

"He just…y'know, I don't know if I could explain it. He just…pulled me to him, holdin' me close and such. I think it just …um, excited him so to say. I don't think anything else would have happened. I mean, you never can tell, but, it's in the past. And I wasn't hurt. It did make Daddy more cautious about leavin' me alone though—and he always made sure Tony or Darryl or Ash were watchin' me around the other hands. Mama stayed mad at him for two whole weeks cause he didn't have him arrested; made him sleep in the barn with the ranch hands. But no worries—I've come to term with what happened. I'm all right."

"I'd have killed him."

"I have no doubts you would have. But c'mon, happier topics at hand! I never finished my story."

John rolled his eyes, and I ignored him, continuing on about the time Ash lost his swim trunks when skiing. By the end, I was rolling with laughter, and even John was laughing.

"That ever happened to you?"

"What, waterskiing?"

"No…losing your swim trunks."

He paused for a moment too long, and I smirked. "You have! You wouldn't be quiet if you hadn't! Details! I have to know when the great John Casey bares all."

"Pausing means nothing."

"Oh like hell it does! Please please please tell me?" I looked over, giving my best set of puppy dog eyes. "Pretty please with whip cream and chocolate on top?"

"1989. Panama City. One too many whiskeys, ended up streaking down the beach."

"Now that must have been a sight…bet the ladies loved it."

"No ladies around—only a platoon of soldiers."

I covered my mouth, not that it helped cover my laughter. "Didya get in trouble with your commanding officer?"

He paused for a moment, and I noticed he was smiling somewhat. Not a huge grin, but the corners of his mouth were slightly upturned. He didn't answer for a moment, and I got impatient.

"Well, didya get in trouble with your commanding officer?"

"Tulip, I _was_ the commanding officer."

And that's where I lost it. I laughed so hard tears were streaming down my face. I could hardly breathe—the thought that John Casey would actually streak—I mean, conservative, Republican, straight-laced John—streaking? It was…too priceless. Oh I was gonna memorize that forever. And ever. If this was the way the rest of the trip was gonna go, it wouldn't be near as bad as I originally had thought.

* * *

So there we go! For all of you who've never played the alphabet game in the car, I highly recommend it. So we get a lil' more on Beth's past, and another side of John Casey. :) Next part will probably be up tomorrow-as _lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts_ is anxious to start posting our co-op on Ellie's weddings. Hope you enjoyed!


	21. Stars and Stripes: Part Two

Part two of Stars and Stripes! You'll soon learn why the title is what it is, which is kinda exciting. :) The next piece'll be up tomorrow, which coincides nicely with _lifeislikeaboxofbertiebotts'_s next piece, which she'll be posting on her story about AJ, and you should check out if you haven't already. Without further ado, enjoy!

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"So are we almost there?"

He grunted and I knew I was wearing him down. He _hated _that question. We'd stopped at a Arby's to grab a bite to eat about thirty miles past…somewhere, I actually wasn't sure—it sure was a funny-looking name for a town, I remembered that. After our conversation about John streaking down in Panama City, I pestered him until he started telling me stories from his time with his Marines. It was strange to listen to him tell stories of his men, and of his time with them—John was very much a different person in their presence. Less cold, less quiet. I guess it really was true what they say—your soldiers become your family. They were all brothers-in-arms.

After a bite of my sandwich, I gestured to the outside. "So since you're not going to tell me if we're almost there, can you tell me where we are?"

"Arby's."

"You can be so annoying, has anyone told you that?"

"Once or twice."

God love the man, least he was truthful. Mm…and he also had good taste in food. I reached for one of his mozzarella sticks only to have my hand smacked back. Mock-hurt on my face, I chastised him. "You know, you're not supposed to hit a woman. That's rude."

"And you're not supposed to steal. Isn't that against the commandments?"

"But…I wasn't' stealing. I was borrowing with no intention of returning."

He rolled his eyes, his focus shifting as there was a particularly rude woman at the counter. I took the opportunity to nab the cheese stick, quickly shoving it in my mouth before he could realize it.

"Beth, I saw that."

I didn't answer, on account my mouth was presently trying to frantically chomp the evidence of my pilfering. Damn, I hadn't realized it was gonna be that hot. I think I burnt my tongue. Scratch that, I think I burnt the whole inside of my mouth. "Ro you din't."

Damn. That wasn't the best enunciated sentence of all time—stupid hot cheese stick, getting me in trouble. But…it was a good cheese stick that could be said. After taking a sip of my shake, I changed the subject—that way he had no reason to insinuate I was a food filcher.

"So, what exactly are we gonna be doin' once we get to…wherever we're goin? Are there sights to see or museums or famous barbeque…? I'm doubting the last one—everyone knows the best barbeque is in Tennessee."

He shrugged, answering with a vague, "Lots to do."

"That is not a very good answer. And you're not telling me where we're going?"

"Nope."

"Stubborn man."

"Nosy woman."

Hey! I resent that comment—I'm not nosy, I'm…inquisitive."

"Same thing as nosy."

Laughing, I threw my hands in the air. "Okay, so I'm nosy. So…what are we gonna do? You don't have to tell me everything, I'm just asking for one little detail to satisfy my curiosity."

"The have a nice beach…could go swimming."

"John! You didn't tell me we were going swimming! I didn't pack a swimsuit."

"You could always go without."

He said it so candidly I almost fell out of my chair. Did he really just suggest that? No, he couldn't have. He…really? Throwing a French fry at him, I shook my head.

"Sorry to disappoint, but these goods aren't for display. I'm _not_ skinny-dipping. This is why you should have told me where we were going before we left. Now there's only one option: we're just going to have to go shopping."

He growled, and I had a feeling going shopping wasn't high on his list of fun things to do. Smiling sweetly, I tried to convince him.

"C'mon John, it'll be fun! There was a sign for a Kohl's about ten miles down the road or so. Besides, it's either go shopping for a swimsuit, or you'll be swimming alone."

He grunted, but it was a number twelve grunt: reluctant acceptance.

"Perfect! Grab your keys, and we'll head out!"

Thirty minutes found both of us in the swimsuit section of Kohls, browsing. Good lord, there were lots of options for swimsuits. And they were expensive! I never understood it, I mean, most of the swimsuits were just this flimsy piece of fabric, and they cost buku amounts of money. Ri-freakin-diculous.

"What 'bout this one?"

I looked over to see what John had found. Well it was…skimpy. "Um, John, that's a bikini."

"Mmhm."

"I'm not wearing _that_!"

"Because…?"

"Um, because it leaves nothing to the imagination and I don't have the body type."

He grunted in disapproval, and kept looking. Five minutes later, I found a cute one piece and held it up for him to see.

"What do you think?"

"No."

"No? But why not! It's perfectly flattering."

"For a nun."

I gaped at him. "John, that's the point. The point of a swimsuit is so I can swim. Not so I can lie on the beach and show my goods to the world."

Another grunt later and I was searching through the racks again. While on my search, I passed a bikini with a patriotic flair: the top was blue with stars, and the bottoms were red and white like the American flag. In my head formed a plan…I buried them beneath a pretty cover-up I had already picked out (I had to…it was teal!) and kept searching. John held up another two swimsuits; both two-pieces—a navy blue and an orange one. The second was cute, but one glance at the top told me it would never fit my rather…buxom self. Plus, I already had mine picked out.

Finding another one piece, this one with a revealing neckline and plunging back, I held it up for John. "Before you say no, just know that I'm not going to wear a bikini, so if it's not a one piece, I won't consider it."

His view kept shifting from the swimsuit to myself, then back to the swimsuit, and he finally nodded. "It'll do."

"Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence."

He rolled his eyes. "You done?"

"Yeah, if you wanna head to the car, I'll meet you there once I check out."

He was out of the store faster than who-knows-what. Poor man, he just doesn't like shopping, I guess. Well, I'd make it worth his while. I couldn't wait to see the look on his face when he saw my swimsuit.

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Thank you to all the readers, you keep me writing! Take time to review, if you'd be so kind-I love hearing back from y'all!


	22. Stars and Stripes: Part Three

Hello lovelies! You're getting a double dose of chapters today, because I said I'd have this one up yesterday, and ended up forgetting. So, I hope you enjoy! A **BIG **thanks to Dimonah Tralon, ACasey, retropanda37, and JanaEbb for the lovely reviews! As you know, don't own anything, ladada.

Enjoy!

* * *

"Are you coming?"

"Yeah, yeah, you didn't tell me we'd be walking so far." I hurried to keep up with his long steps, which would have been easier if we weren't walking in the sand. I'd have worn better sandals if I'd known. He had been quieter today, and I was trying to be careful not to be _too_ annoying. I didn't know what was upsetting him, but something definitely was. I wish I could help. I hated seeing him so stoic. I mean, he was always stoic. But underneath that stoicism was sadness, and as much as I'd tried, I couldn't get it to disappear. Yet. I still had my secret weapon. Wearing my cover up, John had no idea that I wasn't wearing the once piece I said I would. If that couldn't get a smile (or at least an appreciative smirk) I'd call it a day and give up. But I had high hopes.

It bothered me—him being so quiet. When we arrived last night, he was still in a decent mood. We'd stayed in our hotel room, resting and resting from the drive. Two beds thankfully, elseways I didn't think I'd have made it through the night. He acted like how he acted at home, the exception being we were in smaller quarters—as in I was gonna find out whether the man talked in his sleep. Or snored. (Neither of which he did, for which I was grateful. He did, however, growl in his sleep. It was somewhat endearing). But this morning, it was like he was a different man—snappy, quiet, grumpy. He was so different, and when I tried to ask him about it, he wouldn't answer me. Told me to mind my own darn business he did, and although I didn't say so out loud, I wanted to tell him exactly where his thoughts could go. And it wasn't a very pretty place. I focused back in on the world around me, and realized John had gotten a fair bit of ways in front of me. I ran (as well as I could in the sand) to catch up him. The sun was starting to set, but hadn't yet—the actual sunset would start in an hour or so.

"It's a beautiful beach."

"It is."

Ugh, two word answers. I swear, talking to him sometimes was like pulling teeth. But worse.

"Been here often?"

"Off and on."

That's it, I couldn't take it anymore. If he wasn't going to talk, I'd make him show some sign of life. We were almost to the water anyway, so I set my bag down, stripped off my cover-up, and started walking to the water. After about five paces, I turned around, hands on my hips.

His face was priceless. I never thought I'd be able to catch John Casey off guard, but caught him I did. He was standing how I left him, though he had dropped the picnic basket he carried. And slowly, or what seemed to me as slowly, he peeled off his shirt.

_Dear Lord, if you're listening, I'd just like to thank you for that beautiful man you set in front of me. _My jaw may have dropped. I can't be too sure. I can be sure, though, that when he started taking rather long and brisk steps toward me, I couldn't resist. I started running.

I was almost to the water; the sand had changed from the loose hard-to-run-in type to the packed down and slightly damp stuff. I could see the end in sight, three more steps, and I'd be into the clear. But see, that was only if John was taking his long and brisk steps towards me. And he wasn't. The man was sprinting my way. I didn't notice him until he caught me around the waist and tackled me. We rolled two or three feet, and ended up with me leaned over, straddling him right on the edge of the water. Oh damn. Of all things good and holy and…damn!

I should have worn the one piece. It was the only thought running through my mind. Because there was skin on skin on skin…a one piece might've stopped that.

"You shouldn't have."

"—wha?"

His voice was low and gruff when he replied. "Worn the one piece. If you were a flag, I'd salute you."

I blushed, shocked that John, gruff, stern, and stoic John Casey just said that. Maybe he was being literal. But being around Sarah and AJ had given me a dirty mind, and the thoughts that ran in my head had nothing to do with patriotism.

"Stars are big tonight."

I looked up at the sky, expecting to see the first sightings of stars in the sunset. But…the sun wasn't fully set yet; the only stars were on my… "Oh! John!"

He grinned a rather 'cat-ate-canary' grin and I hit him in the chest. "That comment was inappropriate."

"Says the woman who's straddling me."

I started to shift uncomfortably. Next thing I knew, John's hands were on my hips, steadying me.

"Beth."

That was different. I looked at him oddly. He didn't sound like he normally did. His voice was kind of throaty, and I knew he wasn't getting a cold; John never got sick.

"Yes?"

"Stop."

"But, I was just moving around." I was aware my tone had reached a slightly whiny tone, but I was just moving. He didn't even say please.

"_Exactly_. Moving around on me. In a bikini."

"But I don't—oh. _Oh. Oh!_" All too soon I realized why he was uncomfortable with me shifting. Because it was uncomfortable for him. In_ that_ sort of way. I was, as Sarah had said, 'ruffling his feathers'. Well, damn.

I blushed and rolled off him, determinedly staring at the water. Well that was embarrassing. But…wait, if he…nope, wasn't going to think of that. Because it would drive me nuts. And cause me to sunburn quicker, due to the increased redness of my skin. I cleared my throat awkwardly. "So, um, water looks inviting…"

If he noticed my embarrassment, he didn't say anything, and I certainly wasn't gonna bring it up. Determined to forget, or at least not linger on the situation that just occurred, I smiled John's way, nodding at the water.

"Right, so, we're here at the beach, means we gotta swim! First to dunk the other gets choice of din—"

Before I could even get all the words out, he'd picked me up without so much as a 'by your leave' and hoisted me over his shoulder. Hey now, I didn't sign up for this! Even if it did leave me a rather pleasing view of his backside…but still! I protested as he walked further into the water, though the pleas fell on deaf ears. It didn't, well, couldn't really, escape my notice that John's hand steadying me was firmly holding onto my thighs. Well that certainly didn't help any already raging hormones in me from that little incident on the beach. John was almost waist deep in the water, and I started to wonder if he was gonna just walk in there with me attached.

I didn't have to wonder long.

Easily hefting me off his shoulder, he threw me about three feet into deeper water. Well, how rude! Staying underwater, I started swimming toward him; no way in hell I was lettin' him get off that easy. I swam behind him, latching onto his back as he was scanning the horizon for a sign of me. He tried to toss me off, but I wasn't lettin' go easy. While attempting to unattach me from his person, he chuckled, and I inwardly smiled. That was the first time he'd laughed since last night. A small accomplishment, to be sure, but considering how he was acting earlier, I'd take what I could get.


	23. Stars and Stripes: Part Four

As promised, another chapter posted today! :) Enjoy!

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"John?"

"…

I glanced over to see him rifling through the National Riflemen Association's magazine. Though he stayed in a good mood the whole afternoon, from our time on the beach (where we had a challenge to see who make up the most interesting story regarding the first shell we found—I like to say I won; my story rocked) to our dinner at some lil' Italian place John chose, but since we'd gotten back to the hotel he'd been silent as the grave, sipping his scotch. Well, damn it, he was gonna talk or I was gonna take that magazine, roll it up, and beat him with it.

"We're not going to continue on like this."

He grunted questioningly, and I threw the nearest thing I had handy towards him, which happened to be my hairbrush. "Damn it, John, look at me."

Something in my voice must have told him I wasn't kidding, and he looked up. He started to turn for his scotch, and I shook my head.

"Don't you dare turn away from me John Casey. Something is bothering you, has been since the day's started out. You've hardly strung more than three words together at a time, and you're nursing your scotch like it's your lifeline to sanity. I'm worried about you—you're quiet, but you're never _this_ quiet. So unless you start talkin', I'm gonna be forced to take desperate measures, starting with kidnapping your drink."

He growled, and I growled back. Given, my growl was pretty pathetic—nowhere near a scary Casey growl, but I still felt I could hold my own. He gave another, weaker growl and went back to his drink. Shaking my head, I unfolded my legs and moved to sit on the end of the bed. Deftly snatching his drink, I gulped it in one swing, curling my nose at the taste. Scotch wasn't my favorite—Johnny Walker Black wasn't the good stuff to me. Pass me some Crown Gold Rum any day.

"Och, that was nasty," I said with a shake of my head. He narrowed his eyes at me and growled somewhat more menacingly. Did the man only know how to growl? "Psh, that does not scare me anymore. Besides, now I've got your attention. Now are you going to tell me what's wrong or am I gonna have to drink the whole bottle? Because, admittedly, my alcohol tolerance level is high, but considering that's cheap scotch, I have a feeling it wouldn't take much. So unless you want me to be yodeling about being a Cowboy's Sweetheart all night long, you'll start talking."

He took a swig straight from the bottle, and I made a grab for it. He was _not_ getting drunk on me tonight. Not when he clearly needed to confide in someone. He wasn't lettin' go of the bottle, and neither was I. Damned if that man didn't have a stronger grip than me, though. He gave a sharp tug, and I think he expected me to let go, because both of us were rather surprised to find I was in his lap. With his scotch. Oh, hey! The scotch! He momentarily loosened his hold, and I yanked it and tried to get the hell out of there. Tried being the operative word. I guess he figured if he couldn't hold the bottle, he'd hold me until I gave him the bottle. Like that was happening. Giving him the bottle, I mean. I didn't really have a choice on getting out of his lap. Not that I was actually minding. No! Bad Beth—that's taking advantage of your roommate. And that's not nice. _Well, you seem to be enjoying it immensely_. Shut up, inner conscious. I don't have time for you. I need to make sure this man doesn't get drunk. _He's not going to. Look at him; do you really think he has a low tolerance of alcohol? _Er, no, but…oh shut up, I'll focus on you later.

I pushed the voice out of my mind because John had started to speak. "Let go."

"No."

"No?"

I nodded and held on tighter. "No. I'm not going to let go until you assure me that you'll talk. I'm not doing this because I actually like dealing with your growly self when you don't get your way, nor am I doing this because I like that taste of straight scotch. Cause I don't. But you need to speak. I can't be there for you if you don't tell me what's wrong. John…why'd you bring me here in the first place?"

I didn't think he was going to answer me, considering he'd not opened his mouth to speak. Our eyes met and, though he may not have been aware of it, there was pain within their depths. I wanted nothing more than to throw my arms around him, but I still had hold of the bottle. And I wasn't sure what exactly would happen if I did wrap him in my arms; I wasn't so sure I'd let go.

"John, _please_."

He shifted to stare out the window, and I absently wondered if he wanted me to move out of his lap. But…well, he hadn't complained yet. And I was kind of comfy. Okay, so I was slightly abusing my position of power, but…as long as he doesn't say anything, I didn't see anything wrong with it.

"Knew someone who died today awhile back."

"Oh sugar, I'm sorry. Who was it?"

"A friend."

I shimmied so I could face him. "What happened?"

He shook his head, and I reached for his hand. "You don't, you don't have to tell me if you don't wanna, but you'll have to talk about it sometime—you can't bottle everything in."

He harrumphed at me, but held my hand in his tightly, as if he'd lose everything if he let go. Things were becoming clearer to me…I was connecting the dots to this impromptu trip. John didn't wanna stay in Burbank, because he knew I'd ask Sarah if he was always so grumpy on this day, and I had a feeling this was something even Sarah didn't' know about. Though why he took me along was a little confusing. I mean, John was always so…detached. Maybe he didn't wanna be alone. If I were him, I wouldn't wanna be. The fact he was sharing something so close to him with me…it meant a lot. I wanted to know more, but I didn't wanna push too much. I'd try to ask about it once more, if he didn't answer, then I'd accept that that was how it was gonna be.

"So, were you…close?"

"He…we were practically one and the same."

"I'm sorry, John. Can I help? Did he leave behind a family? If he did, maybe you could call—"

"—No. There…by the end, we followed different paths. He…left behind a fiancé. Mother, father, some brothers."

"That's a lot to leave behind."

"It's a lot to lose."

He grew quiet again, and I reflected over what he'd said. They were like brothers. He didn't say it outright, but that's what he inferred. Which meant he probably lost him in the war. Fellow Marine, soldier—they had to have been close. John couldn't be as uncaring as he tried to be—he was hurting deep inside. It was interesting, the way he had phrased it—that it was 'a lot to lose'. Something told me he wasn't talking about his deceased friend, and I couldn't help but continue.

"Is it-was it a lot for him to lose? Or you?"

He stood suddenly, and left me scrambling for my footing. Shit—I pushed too far. There'd be no getting more information from John Casey tonight. He grabbed his clothes for a shower and I went back to my bed. I could read, but honestly, after what I learned, I didn't wanna read over mission reports, and I didn't have any good books. So I laid down. I wasn't tired—I'd just…relax for a bit. 'Sides, I still had to get cleaned up. After about ten minutes, I decided John took an awfully long time in the shower. Wish he'd hurry up; I wanted to shower and sleep. Okay, that was my plan B. Plan A was to ask for more information, but I had a feeling that plan was already pretty well over. Another five minutes, or maybe ten (I didn't know) , passed, and I started flipping through channels. Ah, doom 'n' gloom news, cheesy depressing movie, procedural show, procedural show, lame comedy, oh! AMC classics—_The Major and the Minor_! I loved this movie!

It was the end of it—where Susan (as played by Ginger Rogers) goes back home after being found out that she was masquerading as a twelve year old and she was really an adult, leaving poor Philip, who was played by the suave Ray Milland, and was in love with Susan (awkwardly enough—then again, I always looked past that; the storyline was just too precious) at that military school with a rude, commanding haint of a socialite fiancé. Oh, the light metaphor! And Susan pretending to be her mother and…the movie had just reached the ending scene when John walked past to his bed. Good, shower time. But I'm not missing the end of the movie. John didn't speak, and I didn't figure he wanted me to speak, so I watched in silence. Well, mostly silence. I allowed a slight 'aww' moment when Philip learned Susan wasn't a child and they were going to be together. Though I was always sad—Philip was going to enlist in the war, leaving Susan alone. But that was their choice—I just pretended that he definitely made it through the war.

I showered quickly after the movie with plans of crawling in my nice warm bed. Or, not so warm, actually. The lights were already off, and I felt my way to the bed with only a few minor bump and thumps. An hour passed, but I couldn't sleep. John's not talking was bothering me. Well, that, and the fact every five minutes he'd turn over. Least I wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep. No kitchen for me to bake in, either. Okay, that was it. I couldn't take it anymore. The tossing, the turning…yeah, I needed sleep. He needed sleep. There was only one solution.

I slid out of bed, moving to John's quietly, and sat down next to him. I called his name once with no response, and tried again, to which he answered with a grunt.

Well, it was something.

"You can't sleep?"

Another grunt, but it halfway sounded like a 'you think'. Least we were making progress.

I shifted closer to him, close enough to touch him. He was facing away from me. No Beth, you can't. No matter how much you like. Because that'd also be taking advantage of him. Well, one lil' touch wouldn't hurt…I reached out to smooth his hair, humming softly. Voice soft, I started singing the first lullaby-type song I thought of.

"_Come stop your crying, it will be alright. Just take my hand, hold it tight. I will protect you from all around you; I will be here, don't you cry._"

As I sang, I ran my fingers through his hair like my daddy always did when I had a bad nightmare and couldn't fall back asleep. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at me. He started to speak, but I shook my head at him, pausing from my singing to say, "Shh, no need for words. Just close your eyes, rest." He actually listened to me, closing his eyes and rotating so he was facing me.

"_Cause you'll be in my heart, yes you'll be in my heart, from this day on, now and forevermore, you'll be in my heart, no matter what they say, you'll be here in my heart always,"_

And he would, too. Regardless of whether I wanted it or not, my feelings for John Casey grew stronger every minute I sat in his presence. Every new detail of his life, every quirk and annoying habit—I loved them. Whether he liked it or not, I _knew _him. Maybe not everything, but I had a feeling I was closer to John than just about anyone. I didn't realize, but I'd grabbed hold of his hand sometime. Or he grabbed to mine? I wasn't sure. Things were changing, and I didn't just mean my feelings. Everything was changing. Ellie was getting married. Chuck didn't have the Intersect. Sarah would be…leaving? Maybe? I didn't know what she was thinking—I knew her feelings for Chuck were true though, and I hoped they both would see 'em—they deserved happiness. And John…John would be shipping out. He didn't have any orders yet, but I knew Beckman was going to put him on active duty again; he'd get his own team, go around kicking ass. And I…well, I wouldn't be with him. I'd be on my own mission, somewhere.

"_When destiny calls you, you must be strong, I may not be with you but you've got to hold on. They'll see in time, I know, we'll show them together cause you'll be in my heart, believe me…"_

The song was right; I needed to be strong. Though we were apart, I'd always have his friendship, he was the kind of man that once his loyalty was gained, it never disappeared. John's steady breathing told me he had fallen asleep. He looked so…peaceful. I took a minute to watch him, to memorize every detail—I was going to soak in every second with the man until we parted ways. Nothing could come of a relationship with him, both of us being spies and heading to different places in the world. If I couldn't have that, then I'd at least have the memory. How his hair would changed from brown to practically black when it was still damp from the shower. The way his eyes would momentarily widen in surprise when I proved him wrong. How he smelled of gunpowder and soap, and sometimes, cigars. His calloused hands and how they fit my hands perfectly. I would miss this. I would miss _him._

Whispering a "sweet dreams" to him, I gently untangled my hand from John's, leaning over to kiss his forehead before crawling into my own bed with a sense of…well, I wasn't sure. It was a mix between sadness, longing, happiness…there were too many feelings for me to properly sort out. I couldn't worry about them now. Things would be clearer in the morning.

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Well there we go! What'd you guys think? How 'bout that swimsuit last chapter, eh? And this chapter-a bit more...somber (and sweet at the end). I hadn't expected the piece to turn that way, so if you guys were surprised, just know: I was just as surprised as you guys were. Anyways, thank you for reading, I love reviews, and y'all are Awesome!


	24. Stars and Stripes: Part Five

Here it is! The last part of Stars and Stripes! I'm really excited to get this posted, because after this, there's going to be a bit of a break while I post _lifeislikeaboxofbertiebott_'s and my's co-op on Ellie's wedding, which will be posted under the Chuck versus the Chuckless Summer: Beth & AJ. Not to twist anybody's arm, but I can safely say if you don't read it, or at least the VTR portion, you will be a little bit lost when reading the next chapter I put up. (Plus, you will have missed out on some _very_ awesome things.) Thank you for taking the time to read!

Enjoy!

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"He really told you about his friend?"

"Yes, AJ, he told me about his friend."

I sighed, nodding for what seemed like the hundredth time. I was over at AJ's for a last-minute 'bridesmaid planning party' which was basically cover for 'Throw questions from all angles at Beth on what happened when she was gone'. I knew I should have declined. But I was nice, and didn't. Though, it was probably good for me to be out of the house for a little while. The vibe wasn't as…normal…between John and I. The trip had changed something. It was small, and you could hardly notice it, but it was there. If I were truthful with myself, it worried me a bit. Things were fine before; I didn't want the balance to be upset by anything. Because that brought on change, and I didn't deal well with that.

Before AJ could speak again, Sarah interjected with her own question of "Did he mention a name?"

"He didn't. And I didn't wanna push it—the fact he was telling me at all was pretty big in my book."

"And that was your second night?"

"Yep. Ended up staying up half the night because I was thinking too much, then I finally decided that I needed to just chill, because things would be clearer in the morning." Shaking my head, I laughed."

"What's with the laugh?"

"Because I jinxed myself. I was wrong. Things were certainly _not_ clearer in the morning. Well, literally at least. Fog had rolled in during the night—you could hardly see far enough to spit. Er, not that you would want to spit for any particular reason. And my brain was still running overtime trying to figure out what the heck had happened last night."

With an evil smirk, AJ nudged Sarah, and gave me a wink. "So, what _did_ happen that night?"

"Oh, you! Don't you even start; I told you—he told me about his friend, he took a shower, alone, then I took a shower, then we went to bed, in _separate_ beds. We eventually drifted off to sleep. End of story."

"Alright then, so what happened the next day?"

"Well, after I woke up the second time, we went to breakfast and wandered through town for the day."

"That's it?" AJ asked.

"Well, yeah…what were you expecting?"

In unison, they both shouted, "Details!"

Lord have mercy on me. "Fine, fine, do you want the rundown of the day?" They nodded, and I thought back. "Let's see…you know we went to breakfast—stopped in this lil' café—they had good French toast. Um, we checked out the shops; they had a lot of little hole-in-the-wall joints, with really pretty craft items, like woodcarving and crocheted things and the like. Then I saw an antique mall, and begged to stop in there, which we did. And John ended up getting' distracted with an ole' musket while I perused a really neat section with tea kettles."

At their blank look, I shrugged. "What? They were pretty tea kettles. And then we got hot dogs for lunch at this lil' vendor, and headed to the pier. We watched the water for awhile, and just talked and relaxed and then we headed this way, but it took longer than he expected cause I made him stop so we could see the pretty forests. And that was basically our day."

"And how was that?"

"Um…fine?"

Sarah shook her head at my answer. "No, how _was_ it? Not how the day went, but how was the interaction between you and Casey?"

"Oh, well…" I trailed off, not exactly knowing how to explain. It was a lot harder to explain how the interactions were when the others weren't getting the full story. I hadn't told them about me singing John to sleep, nor had I told them about his Marine stories during the drive, or the incident at the beach. Because I knew John liked his privacy and didn't think it was my call to really say anything. So how had we changed? Well…I decided I'd try to stay as truthful as possible without giving anything away. This was gonna be difficult.

"Well, I guess it was mostly normal. I mean, he acted more like he had on the trip to the coast, which was good—it was more normal. Well, for John in any case. He didn't mention his friend again, and I didn't ask him to."

"Why not!"

"Because that's rude. He didn't wanna talk about it."

"So you're telling me you just _let_ the subject _go_? It was the perfect opportunity to really get some Casey concentration!"

I looked at AJ in shock. "Casey concentration? Please don't use alliteration on my man…agable friend."

Oh shit, they're never gonna fall for that. I knew I should have thought before I spoke.

"Merde Beth! You called him your man!"

"Er, no, I called him my manageable friend."

"Because you almost called him your man."

"Hush Sarah, I did not!"

"Fine, let's say you didn't. But you were still thinking it."

"At least I'm accepting of _my_ feelings. What about you two, hmm? AJ, you deny your feelings for Morgan at every turn."

"I don't _have_ feelings for him!"

I pointed my pretzel stick at her. "See? Case in point." Seeing Sarah smirk, I brandished my makeshift pretzel stick wand at her next. "And _you._"

"What about me? Chuck and I are in a relationship."

"True, but when are you going to give an answer other than 'it's complicated' when someone asks you a direct question about the relationship?"

She didn't have a reply for that, and I munched on my snack in triumph. Ha! Teach them to try and push for information. There was silence for a moment before Sarah finally spoke again. I thought for sure she'd tease about John, or she'd go against what I'd said about Chuck and herself. Which is why she took me by such surprise.

"I…before I met Chuck, I usually didn't stay in relationships long—I wasn't the kind of girls the good guys dated. I was never tied down to anything, which made it easier to leave the current man, or even just skip town. Casey's the same in a lot of ways. He's staked his life on keeping everyone he knows at a distance. Never getting to know anyone, you can have no disappointments. For me, Chuck changed that. He's constantly showing me that I can't be an island; I can't live without feeling anything. Casey…and I'm sure AJ will agree to this, but with you here, Casey's changed. He is not the same man who showed up in Burbank two years ago. He's not the same Casey AJ has gotten to know over the past year. And it's because of you. He would _never_ have told anyone else about his friend. But he told you. He's protective of you, more so than anyone else in this complex. When you're around, he doesn't snap as easily—he stays calm. You're…" She trailed off, trying to think of what to say, when AJ finished for her.

"You're his Chuck."

And that's when I about choked on my pretzel. Not because of what was said, because Sarah brought up some valid points, but more at the fact that I could just imagine coming home, John asking me what the night was like, and myself coming up with the answer, "Well, it was good. Talked about relationships. I'm apparently your Chuck…" because that would go over oh-so-well. AJ passed me a water, and gratefully took a sip. When she saw I wasn't choking, she continued.

" Makes sense, doesn't it? And, if you are indeed mirroring Sarah and Chuck's relationship with our friendly Major—"

"—Colonel, actually."

"All right, with our friendly Colonel, then there's a turning point somewhere. Who knows, this could be your turning point."

Okay, they had lost me. "Turning point for what?"

"From where you cease to be just his 'roommate' into something more."

"Oh, I already know when that is."

"And you didn't tell us!"

They were going to hate me for my answer, but it was better to make sure they didn't get their hopes up. Hell, it was better if _I_ didn't get my hopes up. "Course not; the turning point is _never_ because a relationship with him isn't an option right now. He _does not think of me like that_. Not to mention the fact, we work together—such a relationship only complicates things. I've accepted my feelings for John Casey, and I've accepted that that's all they'll get to be—feelings. No romantic comedy moments for me—when the guy finally realizes the girl loves her and sweeps her off her feet; fairytale moments only work for fairytale girls. I'm afraid I'm more of a western fan myself. The men never stay in those movies—they ride off into the sunset, heroes. And the girl always ends up alone."

They both looked at me, and I bit my lip. Damn it, I needed to learn when to shut up. I hadn't meant for the conversation to take such a negative turn. Well, there they had it—my feelings on the subject, take 'em or leave 'em. No matter how much I wanted John, wanted a relationship with him, I just didn't think he'd ever take that chance. And I wasn't about to make the first move. I was just about ready to switch the subject to something happier and far less 'Beth-centric' when Sarah abruptly spoke.

"McLintock. American Outlaws. Maverick."

"Pardon?"

"All Westerns and all movies where the guy gets the girl."

Well I'll be the son of a monkey's wrench. How did she even…"I didn't know you watched westerns."

"You made us watch McLintock, remember? Chuck and I watched Maverick."

"And American Outlaws?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "Well, it had good eye candy."

I couldn't disagree with her on that. It had good eye candy—Jamie and I had watched it when it came out in theatres. Mmm…Frank James—that's where it was at. But that wasn't where the conversation was supposed to be going. Still…I guess she had a point. Not that I'd tell her that. She must have considered her point made because she reached for a stack of papers, declaring it time to discuss the last-minute details for Ellie's wedding.

I was only half-listening; the other part of my brain was trying to figure out if maybe what Sarah held did have some truth. Could there be a chance for John and me? I mean, as much as I tried to deny it, I couldn't completely discount his actions towards me as simply something he would do as a roommate. And I certainly couldn't ignore the sexual tension between us—it'd been there since…well, I wasn't even sure. That's not to say he didn't drive me crazy sometimes, but he'd also pushed and pushed until I had broken down, which helped me heal. He worried for me, and was protective of me (that much was evidenced by the major trauma Lester and Jeff suffered at the Buymore Picnic…and they hadn't bothered me since). More than that—it was in the little things. How he'd pick up those little cherry tomatoes randomly, because he knew they were my favorite. Or how he always knew when there needed to be chocolate in the apartment. Or how he'd grab my laundry to wash, even when it wasn't his turn to do laundry. Maybe I was looking into things, getting my hopes up for no reason, but maybe, just maybe, Sarah and AJ were onto something. Maybe something would happen—if his actions from the trip were any indication of the change taking place, I'd find out soon enough.

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And there you have it-the end of Stars and Stripes. :) I hope you guys have enjoyed it!


	25. Early Morning Plane Ride

Wow guys, I'm really sorry it's been so long! Lots of stuff's been going on, not to mention a horrible case of writer's block. But I'm back! :) And in return for being the awesome readers you are, all patient and what-not, I'm posting two chapters today! Working on the third one at the moment, so it will hopefully be up soon.

Right, so a small word before you read this: If you haven't been reading CvtCS: Beth & AJ, then you've missed a bit. And you should read that, but if you don't want to, I'll just recap: Casey (after taking Forever) finally asked Beth out. Obviously, she said yes. She's now stationed in Poland, per Beckman's request. Right, the rest you can figure out by reading the chapter, so onto the story!

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4:45 am. Lord it was early, but I didn't care. Two weeks it'd been since I last stepped foot on good ole' US soil, and a month since Beckman had sent me overseas, to _Poland _of all places, to help set up a new Intel station there. Poland wasn't too bad—it was pretty enough, I guess, but I missed the US. I missed the food, the cars, the currency, but I could live with missing just those things. No, there was something I missed more. I missed _him_. After Chuck uploaded the Intersect (again), Sarah and John were to stay in Burbank—I already had my mission though, and it was of the upmost importance, in Beckman's words at least, that I be there in Warsaw, Poland. What a _joy._ But…none of that mattered now. No…Poland, my new mission, the people there—it left my mind as soon as I saw spotted John.

I always thought it was cheesy in romantic comedies when the girl sees the guy, and time cinematically stands still; I always thought it was clichéd and overdone. But I was beginning to wonder if maybe it held some truth. He hadn't spotted me yet—my plane wasn't actually due in till five—so I took the time to look at him. He didn't look any different than he had looked a month ago. Still as handsome as ever—his hair looked damp, he must not have been up too long. Then again, I wouldn't be either—I'd slept a bit of the flight, but I was too anxious to really sleep well. I headed his way; when I had about maybe a yard left to go, he turned.

Dear Lord…I hadn't realized how much I'd missed him. He was sporting a rare smile, and I couldn't help but grin in return. Not caring if I caused a scene, I ran the last bit of my journey straight into John's awaiting arms. He hugged me tightly, and I buried my face into his shoulder, breathing in the smell of fresh soap and, if my nose was correct, cinnamon. Now, either he bought some new-fancified cologne, or he picked up some of Kate's ready-made cinnamon rolls. Because that's what they smelled like. Pulling me back slightly, his lips met mine for an eager kiss. Apparently, he'd missed me too. Once we both were breathless, or at least I could surely say I was, he gestured to my carry-on.

"Need the rest of your luggage?"

I shook my head. "Nope, what you see is whatcha got." At his raised eyes, I continued, "Most of my stuff is still at your place, I didn't figure I'd need to bring too much."

"Our place."

"Pardon?"

He wrapped an arm around me, leading me towards the exit. "It's not just my place; it's our place."

"Well, it was but—"

"-and will remain until I say different. Stop being stubborn."

"You realize that's like asking the rain not to fall, don't you?"

"I'm well aware."

I didn't say anything else; I was just happy to be back, if only for a little while. Phone calls were great and all, but they just didn't cut it. Though, to the man's credit, he called religiously. Every night, to be exact. Well, technically, he called in the morning. And I answered in the afternoon. Crazy time zones. But it worked well for us. To catch up on the latest goings-on in Burbank, and for him to ask me a hundred times if I was taking care of myself. Because Poland wasn't the US and could be potentially dangerous and I was in a new mission and…you'd almost think the man was a bit worried. Just almost.

We headed across the parking lot and I shivered—it was brisk this morning. Pulling me closer, John chuckled.

"Thought you were supposed to be used to the cold."

"Contrary to popular belief, Poland isn't all cold…ness."

"Coldness?"

"I lost the word; don't judge me."

"Wouldn't dream of it Tulip. What's your plan for the weekend?"

Though he didn't come out and say it, I knew what he was asking. It was his slightly subtle way of seeing if I had told the gang I was back in town. Because that would determine what my weekend looked like; whether I was whisked away from one person to the next, or if I could rest. Well, he needn't have worried.

"I'm yours for the next couple days. The others don't know I'm in town and…I think I'll keep it that way. I mean, it'd just make it harder, leaving again. I mean, half of the ole' gang aren't even there—Chuck's in Prague, AJ's abroad, and Morgan's off beatin' meat—er, that sounded wrong—he's off in Hawaii. So, it wouldn't be the same in any case. 'Sides, I haven't seen you in a month—do you really think I'm gonna wanna pull myself away from the apartment?"

"You sure?"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't have said. I just want this weekend to be about us."

"You know how to make a Marine's morning." Kissing my temple, he helped me into his car, and soon enough we were flying down the road, headed for home.

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You know the routine, I love reviews, so tell me whatcha think!


	26. Hair Dye and Teddy Bears

"Was it really necessary to dye your hair?"

"Sugar, just how many redheads do you think are in Poland?"

John fiddled with a strand of hair that had fallen from my sloppily made bun. "I don't like it."

"I'm sorry, was that a pout I detected? Did the great John Casey actually _pout_ about my hair color?"

He growled and I laughed. "To answer your question, it was, sadly, necessary. I didn't wanna color it either, but everyone thought it'd be better if I blended in a bit more. It was either brown or blonde, and I didn't figure blonde would cover my red hair—I'd have to color it more often."

"Shouldn't have to color it at all."

I laughed; why was he so worried about my hair? "Well I promise ya darlin' the first chance I can change it back—I will."

"Good. You're best as a redhead."

Giving him a wink I asked, "Cause I'm saucy?"

"Cause you're temperamental."

"You're not always easy to deal with either, Misiaczku"

He looked at me funny, and I grinned. "You have no idea what that means, do you?"

"Enlighten me."

"Well, it's Polish…"

"I hadn't guessed."

"Don't get smart with me, mister." Snuggling into his side, I whispered, "Means teddy bear."

He growled, and I couldn't help but laugh. "See? It's fitting."

"A _teddy_ bear?"

"Not a teddy bear, my teddy bear."

"Possessive, don't you think?"

"You obviously haven't known too many southern women, have you Colonel? We country folk like to keep what's ours' close. Our flag, our men, and our guns, not necessarily in that order."

I sighed in contentment. I loved being back home. When we'd gotten back from the airport, I had been greeted with Kate's cinnamon rolls and coffee, heavenly, completely normal-tasting American coffee. Not that weird stuff Poland drinks. We'd spent the rest of the morning curled up on the couch, sleeping off and on.

"Hey John?"

"Mm?" he answered, lazily playing with my hair. It would take a _long_ time before he accepted the color, I'd guessed. I still wasn't used to it.

"I…that feels real nice, you know. I've missed you so much—all the phone conversations in the world don't add up to actually bein' here you know. What have your guys' missions been like? Is it weird with just you and Sarah?"

He grunted, and I nodded. He didn't say so, but it was different. Not just with me gone, but with Chuck also gone. Much as he'd hate to admit it, Chuck was a big part of what made our team so…so connected, I guess. He was like the glue to this crazy puzzle—held us all together.

"Your missions?"

I scoffed. "They're there. Bunch of ridiculous and stupid…I'm wasting my breath there. But…Beckman says I'm best for the job."

"And you don't believe her."

"Well…it's not that. It's just…" I trailed off, knowing if I brought up the Valerian incident or my getting shot, he'd get upset. He put part of the blame on himself, stupid as it was.

"It's just what?"

Sighing, I mumbled, "I don't think she thinks I can work in the field anymore."

"And why would she think that?"

"Just a, um, feeling."

He stopped playing with my hair, and I knew he was on to me. "Stop avoiding the question. Beth, talk to me."

Coming from someone who spent more of his time growling or grunting than talking, I found the plea a bit ironic, but I nodded slowly anyway. "All right…I think, I think Beckman thinks she sent me back to field work too soon, because of what happened, um, with Valerian and his almost-assault. And then getting shot...she hasn't really put me on any big danger missions—a whole lotta recon is what we've been doing. And she always has me working with Calgary, even though I'd rather work alone."

As I suspected, John tensed at the mention of Valerian, and held onto me closer when I oh-so-casually mentioned my latest wound, which technically still wasn't at a hundred percent. "She worries."

"Over me? I'm just one agent. Hell, I'm not even _her_ agent."

"But you're part of her team. She feels responsible for you."

"Then wouldn't she know it'd be better if I was here? If I was home?"

He sighed, and I knew he didn't have an answer anymore than I did. Leaning up slightly, I kissed him on the cheek. "It's alright you don't have an answer either, sugar. Compared to you goin' off on black-ops missions, I think we got off pretty easy. Least you can know where I am, right?"

He grunted, which I took to mean I was right. "Y'know, Poland's not actually as bad as you'd think. I mean, it's cold and a lil' dreary at times, but it has nice people. A cozy sorta atmosphere. I saw AJ the other week there."

"What was Abbott doing in Poland?"

"Said she hadn't seen it last time she travelled; she'd been off to five countries and said she was 'bored'. Which means of course she's just missing Morgan and Burbank but is too stubborn to come back."

"Think they'll get together?"

I looked up at John, who gave me an enigmatic smile, and I laughed. "Well, look at you John Casey, playin' matchmaker!"

He scoffed, "I'm tired of seeing Grimes walk around like a lost puppy."

"Oh, he doesn't wander around like a lost puppy…just a—well, okay, he does."

"Ridiculous. Man ought to grow some balls, just kiss her."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh, like you did?"

He leaned over and I barely had time to make a surprised 'oh' before he kissed me full on the mouth, his tongue teasing me with expertise. After a bit, he pulled back, practically growling, "And what do you call that?"

"That—that I call nirvana, but you know what I mean. It took a full year before you kissed me, and even then, I do believe _I _kissed you."

"Would have kissed you sooner, if I recall."

"Mhm, and I recall a certain Forrest interrupting." I glared across the room before muttering, "The bitch."

He raised his eyes in surprise before chucking in amusement. "That's not very courteous of you, Tulip. Where's all your southern charm?"

"It left when Forrest decided to put her eye on _my_ man."

"I wasn't yours yet."

"See?" I told him, "There's your keyword: yet."

He sounded almost surprised when he said, "You were jealous."

"I was not!" At his disbelieving look, I continued, "Much. But…c'mon! She was cold and callous and taking over Sarah's job. And then she was all into you and you were acting like she was the best thing since sliced bread and forgetting things previous arrangements like Bonanza watching and Sunday quiche and she was a-a home wrecker! Er, without the being involved with the other person, so I guess…a roommate wrecker! Plus, did you see her? Hair had to be bleached—couldn't have been that naturally blonde. Not with her complexion. And her boobs—I mean, it's not like they were _that_ impressive, just because she knew a few stripper mo—"

John cut me off with another kiss, and shifted so that I was laying on the couch, he leaning over me. Moving his lips to my ear, he whispered, "You were jealous. And it's a trait I find utterly _sexy_."

I shivered as he planted a row of kissed to my collarbone. Dear gods…Should I stop him? Don't wanna get carried away but…aw hell, who cared? My arms wrapped around his shoulders, and I let myself sink into the satisfaction of a mid-morning make-out session with my boyfriend. Yep, it was good to be home.

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And there's the second chapter for the day! Hope you enjoyed! ((Side-note, I don't own Chuck and such, I do own Beth.)) And who else was super excited that Chuck's getting a fifth season? *raises hand* Right...had to get that out of my system. Please review; reviews make me happy. :)


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